


Want To

by teacuphuman



Series: Want To Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come as Lube, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Frottage, Growing Up, M/M, More Blow Jobs, Rimming, Separations, Sexual Experimentation, Teenlock, Underwater Blow Jobs, Violence, not against each other, possessivejohn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite coming from different worlds John and Sherlock forged a friendship early in their lives and have stuck together through the years. With different dreams and aspirations looming over their heads will they push beyond the barriers of sexual experimentation and admit how they really feel about each other or will the expectations of those around them be too much to overcome?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing fanfiction so I hope it's not a complete mess! It's loosely based on the song Want To by Sugarland. I've written about half of the story and hope to update every week. I have no beta so all mistakes are mine. If you find any, please let me know and I'll do my best ti fix them! I own nothing.

Chapter One

John was slouched low in his seat, knees propped on the dash and fingers drumming out a rhythm on his thighs. The piece blaring through the speakers was full of frantic energy and high-strung beauty, much like the boy at his side. Tilting his head back he watched his friend for a minute before the other boy caught him looking and flashed him one of his rare, secret smiles, sending a thrill of shivers through John that had nothing to do with the breeze coming in through the open windows. He sighed and returned his attention to the song, grinning at the road that stretched out in front of them. For what seemed like the millionth time he tried to figure out just when it was that he’d fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes.

John met Sherlock at A&E when they were ten. Sherlock had fallen out of a tree after hiding there most of the day while the household searched for the absent boy. It had gotten dark while he’d been ‘missing’ and in his boredom had fallen asleep and tumbled off his perch. John was there to say goodbye to his grandfather. Sherlock had come across the small, teary boy in a small alcove while waiting for his arm to be casted. He had let John poke at the blackening bruise of the break to make him feel better. It worked. By the time John’s parents and Sherlock’s older brother had found them the boys had forged a friendship. 

That had been almost eight years ago and though they were both young men now, seemingly headed in different directions and with different interests and friends, they were just as close as they had been in that dark corner of the hospital where, for the first time, Sherlock had been moved to help someone and John had let him.

Puberty had hit John early and it had hit hard. By ten his voice was changing and he started noticing the people around him in a new way. Sherlock was a late bloomer and then had the nerve to go through it overnight. One visit he was still an inch shorter than John, voice light and soft and by the next month he towered over his friend, his voice having lowered several octaves to thunder around John’s ears in a smooth rumble. John was jealous and there was no hiding it. He had accepted that he wasn’t going to be a tall man but did Sherlock really need all those inches? He quietly seethed every time his own voice broke with a residual crack and Sherlock smirked.  
John had seriously worried about their friendship for a while when he couldn’t seem to get a handle on his jealousy when Sherlock was around. Then one night, when his phone started buzzing incessantly at three am, he realized that even if his friend was taller, smoother, and maybe, just maybe better looking, there was one thing that John had that no one else did: the full attention of Sherlock Holmes.

In all honestly, that night was when John started to think of Sherlock as more than just his best friend. He started noticing that even when Sherlock wasn’t there, he was constantly on John’s mind. At school his voice was in John’s head, correcting the teachers and criticizing the students. At home John could smell him on the shirt left behind at their last sleepover. When John was snogging Claudine Halpern in a coat closet at her birthday party, Sherlock was watching over her shoulder and making snide remarks.

It wasn’t until he was fourteen and woke from a dream of Sherlock down on his knees in front of him, wide, red mouth wrapped around his best friend’s stiff cock, that John realized he might have a problem. It didn’t stop him from turning his face into the sheets and tugging ruthlessly until he was biting Sherlock’s name into the pillow, spilling all over himself. John had expected to feel shame the next morning or, if not then, certainly when he next saw Sherlock. It never came. Moments after meeting up they were off running on a new adventure and the thoughts were shoved to the back of John’s mind.

By the age of sixteen Sherlock had caught up somewhat in the sex department but only in as much that he was now willing to discuss it. John was no wallflower when it came to sneaking girls into corners and talking his hands under their shirts and so Sherlock was forced to concede his inexperience and mine John’s memory for details. 

Sherlock was staying over the weekend and they were laying side by side in John’s bed. Once he’d exhausted his curiosity about the things John had done and had others do to him they were silent for a while. John was half hard from recounting his experiences and Sherlock’s squirming beside him wasn’t improving the situation.

When John told him to lie still Sherlock had whimpered. Looking over at his friend John noticed the boy was palming his erection through his pajama bottoms. Locking eyes but not saying a word, John rolled onto his side and watched as the movements sped up. When Sherlock whimpered a second time John reached to tug the clothing barrier out of the way. Sherlock groaned loudly when his hand finally met his swollen prick and ten seconds later John had his own hand down his pants. They were barely touching, only brushing against each other as their pace increased. Sherlock was watching John’s hand on himself and John was watching Sherlock’s reaction to it. 

When Sherlock bit his bottom lip hard enough to break the skin John only just stopped from arching up to suck on it. Instead he brought his other hand down to fondle his balls, pressing lightly on the sensitive space just behind them. That was all it took to push Sherlock over the edge. His breath caught and his body arched off the bed. He stuttered John’s name as he painted strips across his t-shirt. By the time he could breathe again John was done, having curled forward and pressed his face into Sherlock’s shoulder as his own orgasm barreled through him.

John quickly stripped off his shirt and, turning it inside out, cleaned up Sherlock as best he could. Unable to save Sherlock’s, John gently prodded him out of the soft cotton and pulled his bottoms back up over his sharp hips. He threw their soiled clothing in the corner and turned back to his friend, worry and uncertainty starting to creep past his blissful haze. Sherlock’s eyes were closed and his breathing had evened. If it weren’t for the small smile on his face John would have thought he was asleep. John lay back down beside him, gazing at the ceiling and questioning if that had actually just happened. He got his answer when Sherlock flopped over and burrowed into John’s side, laying his head on the boy’s shoulder.

It was clear the next day Sherlock was not going to talk about it and John was strangely okay with that. He’d long ago decided that he would be open to whatever Sherlock could give him. He got the feeling that had been the first time Sherlock had ever touched himself and so John wasn’t moved to push for something his friend may not know how to handle.

The second night it was Sherlock who tugged at John’s clothing, already having taken himself in hand. They lay on their sides watching each other again, struggling not to shout as they came in concert and decorated the other in their offerings.

It didn’t happen every time one of them stayed over, and never at Sherlock’s house where his brother always seemed to know what they’d gotten in to that day. It was a semi-regular occurrence, usually instigated by Sherlock when he was particularly bored or frustrated. John didn’t stop taking girls out and Sherlock didn’t stop being an ass most of the time but for them it worked. 

Eighteen months later and John was finding it harder and harder not to push. They still got off with each other on occasion and sometimes there was cuddling afterward but they never talked about it. He still hadn’t decided if Sherlock would consider it crossing a line if John tried to kiss him. 

Now that they’d finished their A levels and the possibly of moving further apart loomed, John wanted answers. The problem was he had yet to determine the questions. He couldn’t blame Sherlock for not bringing it up, the man took great pleasure in denying himself anything other people considered necessities, including but not limited to: food, sleep, and sex. Once they’d gone four months with barely the brush of a hand between them, nearly driving John insane. It wouldn’t have been hard to get off alone or even with someone else if he’d wanted but if  
Sherlock could abstain then so could he. When they finally broke the dry spell it had been over in minutes.

He’d known by then that he loved Sherlock. Loved him on a level he’d never known existed. He understood that being together might mean being shunned by friends, maybe even family, but he also understood if anyone was worth losing everything for, it was Sherlock Holmes.

Pulling himself back to Sherlock in the driver’s seat John sighed again and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his body through the windscreen. By the end of the weekend he would know.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am totally shocked that people are actually reading this. It's so exciting! This story will not leave me alone and so you get two chapters today. So much for being patient and posting once a week! Enjoy!

Chapter Two

The cabin had belonged to John’s Grandfather who had gone what his mother described as ‘a little soft in the head’ in his twilight years. John hated when she referred to him like that and had once told her the man had simply realized what shits his kids were and did what he could to escape them. She’d slapped him and his cheek had stung the whole three hours it had taken to hitch a ride out to old place. 

John was the only one who was welcomed with open arms no matter when or how he arrived on his Grandfather’s doorstep. The old man had laughed until he gasped when John told him what he’d said. Then he’d poured the boy a finger of whiskey and recounted his days from the war until falling asleep midsentence. John had covered him with a blanket, laid his glasses on the table beside him, and curled up in his own chair to sleep. 

Stepping out of the car and stretching, he looked over at the stone house. Nothing much had changed since the first time he’d visited as a boy. The garden was a little more overgrown and the windows needed cleaning but John had been doing what he could to maintain it since it had been left to him in his Grandfather’s will. As soon as Sherlock had his license and had begged a car from his parents John enlisted him to help with the place. In return Sherlock was allowed to scour the area for animal carcasses and plants to study and could blow up anything he wanted in the yard as long as it didn’t damage the house or alert the authorities. They made the trip out when they could but now that summer was settling in and school had finished they could spend more than just a few hours checking over the house and seeing to whatever needed fixing.

This week wasn’t about the cabin though; it was about the boys who enjoyed it. John pushed his apprehension aside and moved to unload the boot while Sherlock went to expect God knows what in the yard.

“Oi! Are you going to help me?” John called to him. Sherlock didn’t turn or even stand up from examining the base of a small tree.

“Hmm, no,” was the response.

“Bastard,” John muttered, smiling.

“Bird,” Sherlock called when John came out of the cabin, having deposited the first load of supplies.

“Fish,” John shot back. Sherlock looked up, startled, then frowned at John’s smile.

“No John, there’s a bird. It’s dead.”

“I hope so since you’ve been poking it with a stick for the past five minutes,”

“It’s a baby but there’s no nest in the tree.”

“I’m not sure what you’d like me to do about that,” John told him. “Maybe it would make the dead bird feel better if you helped pack things in.”

Sherlock shook his head and muttered about John’s deliberate ignorance before joining him at the car.

“I don’t see why I should have to help, you always pack too much.”

“No, I pack enough for us to survive. You may be happy to exist on deep thoughts and fresh air while we’re here but I like the finer things in life.”

“Tea?” Sherlock guessed.

“Yes, definitely tea. But also bread, meat, and of course chocolate.”

“Chocolate?” Sherlock asked, pawing through the boxes of food.

“It’s not in there so stop it. Do you really think I’d leave it where you can find it? You’d have eaten it before we left the city.” John chuckled at Sherlock’s put upon sigh. 

“Fine, pack it in yourself then. I’m going down to the water,” 

“Oh, come on! You’ll be thankful for my deceit when you still have it for s’mores tonight!” John called after him. Sherlock ignored him and disappeared into the trees.

Used to his friend’s pouting, John finished unloading the car and started on unpacking the supplies. They were staying at the cabin four days but Sherlock was right, he always brought more than was actually needed for their stay. Sometimes one or both of them just needed to get away from the city and there wasn’t time to worry about stopping for food. 

The cabin had become a haven for John after his father had died and his mother had fallen apart. By then his Grandfather had been gone too but the cabin remained in his stead, sheltering him from the worst days. When he could he would drag Sherlock out with him, forcing him away from the chaos that seemed to build within his friend’s mind, causing him to lash out and then shut down for extended periods of time.

John hoped that pushing for answers now wouldn’t drive Sherlock toward one of those episodes. The man was a genius but extremely sensitive to outside pressure. The smallest push one way could cause a giant backlash and send him running in the opposite direction. John needed to keep his head and not spring anything on him suddenly. It was usually Sherlock who instigated their activities and so John just needed to wait for the right moment and add a new element. Tonight he would try to kiss Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Once the food was unpacked and their bags had been delivered to the bedroom John went in search of Sherlock.

He followed the small, worn track into the forest and toward the small pond on the property. It wasn’t very deep, chest high on John at its shallowest but only about nine feet deep on the far side. It would be a nice break from the heat of the day. A grin spread across his face when he spotted Sherlock’s clothes in a pile by the edge of the water. He scanned the water and saw the dark shape that was his friend sitting on the sandy bottom. John had just started unbuttoning his shirt when Sherlock’s came up for air.

“Took you long enough,” Sherlock said, shaking his head and sending water flying through the air.

“Someone has to do the actual work around here,” John told him.

“All work and no play makes John a dull boy,” Sherlock said seriously. “Go slower,” he commanded, lowering his voice. 

John paused in removing the shirt from his shoulders then resumed at half the speed. He knew Sherlock liked to watch him, that had pretty much been evident from day one and this wasn’t the first time John had stripped for him. He longed to slowly peel the clothes off Sherlock’s pale body, kissing each new inch of flesh that was revealed. He reassured himself that day would come soon and slid his hands down his stomach to the button on his shorts. He popped it open and took his time with the zipper while Sherlock bit his lip and raised himself a bit higher for a better view. 

John hooked his thumbs in the elastic band of his pants and raised his eyebrow, questioning. 

“One at a time,” Sherlock whispered. With nothing but nature to compete with his deep voice had no trouble carrying across the water.

John shimmied his hips a bit and his shorts hit the ground. Cursing himself for forgetting again, he toed off his shoes and kicked them and the shorts aside. He watched his friend’s face closely as he inched his pants down, first over one hip, then the other. He couldn’t be certain but it looked like Sherlock had stopped breathing. 

After every small movement John paused, forcing Sherlock to meet his eyes before they dropped back to his body and he revealed another section of skin. He pulled the cotton away from himself a bit and let it brush along his cock as it went down. He closed his eyes and groaned at the sensation. When he opened them again Sherlock was staring at him greedily. He bent forward to finish the job but an unsure grumble stopped him. He looked up, puzzled. Sherlock’s colour was high and he looked uncharacteristically bashful. 

Uncertain as to what had caused the reaction, John stood back up, taking his pants with him. Sherlock shook his head minutely and John paused. Sherlock cleared his throat nervously and flicked his dark head slightly. John frowned but did as he thought the other boy wanted and turned his back to him. When he wasn’t corrected he started to lower his pants again.

“Slowly,” the quiet voice spoke again and John suddenly understood what was happening. He felt his own face heat up and his cock gave a pulse. Even with all the times they’d gotten off together, this had never entered into it. John was happy to let Sherlock play the voyeur, more than happy actually, but this was new. Christ, he felt like he was on display like never before bent over with his ass in the air, presented to his best friend. Sherlock growled low in his throat and John’s heart sped up. Maybe he wasn’t the only one looking to move things along.   
He paused with his pants at his feet for a moment, allowing Sherlock to catalogue the moment in his mind before he straightened and slowly turned back to the water. The look on Sherlock’s face was startling. It was pure want and it was aimed entirely at John. His cocked twitched and he took a confident step forward.

When he reached the water’s edge Sherlock dipped below the surface once more. John kept moving forward until the cool water was lapping more than halfway up his chest. If the brisk temperature of the pond had dulled his own arousal any it bounded back when he felt a hand on his hip. Long fingers smoothed their way over his stomach and dipped into his navel before finding their way upward. Sherlock rubbed a thumb over John’s nipple as he came up for air. 

He was panting and John watched rivulets of water course over the other boy’s chest. His dark hair was alight with auburn threads in the direct sunlight and John longed to sink his fingers into the wet curls. When Sherlock pinched a nipped between two fingers John couldn’t keep his body from arching into the touch. Sherlock’s laugh rumbled he took John by the hips and dragged him into deeper water. He turned them and pushed John against the rough rock edge on the far side of the pond. Unable to reach the bottom with his feet, John was forced to grip the sharp rocks to keep his head above water. 

Sherlock dipped his head down to run his teeth against John’s nipple, holding the boy’s hips for support. John’s hands tightened on the rocks and he felt it slice into his right palm. Still he didn’t move, barely breathed for fear of scaring Sherlock off. 

Having Sherlock at that level meant that John’s prick was pressed against the taller boy’s sternum and was currently leaving a weeping trail of precome along his chest where, even under water, it clung to the few hairs there. Sherlock started squirming in his enthusiasm and John had to fight back the urge to rut into the warm skin in front of him. Just when he was ready to give in and take advantage of the friction being provided, Sherlock pulled back and sunk into the water. Before John could think to question the move his prick was engulfed in slick, wet heat. 

John’s head crashed back into the rock ledge and he almost lost his grip when his vision stuttered. Dear God, Sherlock was sucking his cock under water. He briefly considered keeping track of how long Sherlock could hold his breath but the thought was banished when a tongue flicked over the head. John bucked his hips unconsciously and Sherlock’s fingers tightened on his hips, keeping him restrained. 

“Holy, holy, holy fuck!” John panted. Sherlock pulled off and popped his head out of the water.

“What?” He said, a wild look on his face. 

“Jesus, don’t stop!” John begged and the other boy slid beneath the water with a satisfied smirk, resuming his efforts with renewed vigor. 

John wasn’t going to last long, and when Sherlock’s hand slipped down to his balls, pulling gently, he mentally cut his time in half. He could already feel the pricking in his spine that signaled his oncoming orgasm and the pressure in his balls was building fast. What was he supposed to do? Did Sherlock want a warning or was he willing to let John come in his mouth? He tried to let go of the ledge and get Sherlock’s attention but the moment he relaxed his grip he started sinking. In this state he was liable to drown them both with good intentions. He absently tried nudging Sherlock with his knee in warning but the other boy’s grip tightened once more and his efforts doubled. Christ, how was he not out of air? 

That was John’s last though before his orgasm seized him. He lost control over his body as he rode out the waves of pleasure and emptied himself down his friend’s throat. He would have blissfully drifted into the water had Sherlock not surfaced and grabbed the rocks, one arm around John’s waist, supporting him. 

When John came back to himself he was limp in his friend’s tight embrace. Sherlock was studying him closely, for what he had no idea.

“Fuck,” John muttered.

“You keep saying that,” Sherlock told him. “Am I to assume that is a positive reaction to what transpired?” 

Instead of answering John surged forward and smashed his lips down on Sherlock’s. He clenched the boy’s shoulders and swiped his tongue into his mouth, groaning when he tasted himself there. Sherlock jerked back, shoving away from John, a look of shock on his face.

“Sherlock?” John caught himself on the rocks. Surprise was quickly replaced with blankness and distance and Sherlock backed up even more.

“That was not part of the experiment,” Sherlock told him sternly. John’s heart stopped for a minute, pain squeezing tight in his chest before being replaced with anger.

“That wasn’t a fucking experiment, Sherlock.” He gritted his teeth.

“Of course it was, what else would it have been?”

“No,” John shook his head. “You don’t suck your best friend’s cock on a lark for an experiment.”

“It wasn’t a lark, I planned it. Had I told you your response wouldn’t have been valid.”

“Valid? If you’d told me it was an experiment I wouldn’t have fucking let you do it!” John shouted, starting to shiver in the cool water.

“Yes you would have,” Sherlock told him and for a moment John hated him. Truly hated him because he was right. John would let Sherlock do anything to him because he was starving for any small piece of attention Sherlock would grant him.

“Fuck you,” John spit out and hauled himself over the rocks, scratching his legs. He walked straight into the woods and away from the water, clothes forgotten in the fog of anger.  
He heard Sherlock call after him only once but he refused to turn around. He may be hopelessly in love with the bastard but he still had his pride.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honour of my minions I will post a new chapter! It's a short one but I'll probably post the next one later today. Man, when they say writing from Sherlock's POV is difficult, they're not kidding! Hopefully I didn't mess it up too badly. Thanks so much everyone for reading, it's truly inspiring!

Chapter Four

Somehow he’d miscalculated. Sherlock started to panic when John didn’t come back when called. John always came when Sherlock called. Always. He took a few quick breaths, pulling the air deep into his lungs and sunk to the bottom of the pond once more. Without the distractions of the world above it was easier to think clearly.

John had never touched him after an ‘occurrence’ before today. Sherlock breaking the unspoken no contact rule must have made John think he could as well. John hadn’t just touched him though, he’d kissed him. And Sherlock had definitely been surprised by the heat and passion infused in the kiss. 

He knew John had wanted to be more physical with him several times in the years they’d been experimenting but he’d so far managed to stop before anything happened. Sherlock had until now assumed John’s urges were brought on by the situation, by the joint pleasure they shared in those fleeting moments. Sherlock would be lying if he claimed not to have been tempted from time to time as well. Sometimes after reaching orgasm John sighed in an almost beautiful way and Sherlock wanted to lay his head on his friend’s chest and feel the vibrations made by that small sound of contentment. 

There were also occasions when they prolonged the experience, pulling themselves back from the brink again and again until finally pushing over the edge and John groaned Sherlock’s name as he came, spreading his seed over Sherlock’s own rapidly pumping fist. Hearing John like that was enough to send Sherlock tumbling over the edge after him. Those nights it was he who had to keep himself in check. It was then that his possessiveness over his friend surged to the forefront and he wanted to feed John the glossy evidence of their shared carnality.

Sometimes Sherlock’s need for John’s presence was crushing. He found himself searching John out at school, at rugby practice, even on dates, just so his mind could relax and enjoy a moment of peace. If he could pull John apart and find that one ingredient which allowed him to affect Sherlock so entirely he could excise it and keep it with him always. Lacking the ability and the psychopathic tendencies needed to accomplish that he settled for having John as close as he could without sacrificing himself.

Sherlock knew desires like that were a bit not good. John was his best friend and no matter what they got up to when their clothes were shed, it didn’t change the fact that John still went on dates with girls and that Sherlock had a responsibility to live up to his family name, not to mention his own potential. He understood that doing what was expected, what needed to be done meant hiding his own desires as deep as possible and never admitting that he was anything other than what he was supposed to be.

His lungs had begun to protest and his body was finding it difficult to overcome its instinct to take in oxygen at any cost. He slowly let himself float to the surface and made his way to shore. He slipped on his pants and vest, gathering the remaining garments into a ball as he followed the path back to the cabin. He left John’s things where he would eventually remember them when his anger ran out and he chose to return.

John Watson was the most stubborn person Sherlock had ever met. It had always impressed him because he himself took such pride in being as ornery and difficult as he could manage. John often expressed the urge to punch Sherlock when he was being stroppy. He couldn’t say he wanted to hit John right now, quite the opposite in fact. He wanted to cover John’s small, compact body with his own, longer one, keeping him trapped beneath him until John swore he’d never leave. He’d make him promise to never again walk away from Sherlock, no matter how angry he got. Sherlock would rather John take his anger out on him, maybe then he would finally understand where John’s reasoning came from. The bruises and scratches on his body would explain to Sherlock exactly why John stayed. 

Pausing briefly on the porch he realized that was possible. If he let John touch him, let him express himself through contact maybe John would continue to let Sherlock experiment with him. His brother had told him it was important to know himself. To understand what his limits were so others couldn’t use them against him. Mycroft thought John was a weakness but if Sherlock could allow John free reign over him and managed to keep himself in check he would prove that John made him stronger. 

He’d tried once to cut himself off from John and it had been the most disturbing hundred and twenty-two days of his life. Without John’s equalizing presence his mind had gone into overload. He tired smoking, cutting, and briefly, drugs to try and sort himself out but after two months he was worse than when he had begun. He waited another two months for the cuts to heal before rushing to John and losing himself in calloused hands and soft sighs.

At the memory Sherlock remembered that his experiment had been incomplete and his own needs had gone unmet. He’d planned on laying John across the large flat rock at the water’s edge, letting him fall asleep as his skin and hair dried in the sun. Sherlock would sit beside him, waiting patiently until John’s breath evened out and deepened. Then he’d kneel over him and stroke himself while he observed every inch of John the sun touched. He wanted to think he would have had the courage to wake John moments before he came by pressing his cock against his friend’s lips and forcing him to swallow every drop. Most likely he would have finished into his hand and wiped it on the grass before waking John and demanding to be told where the chocolate was hidden. 

Once inside the cabin Sherlock dropped his clothing on the floor and went into the bedroom. He would find and eat the chocolate just to annoy John and even the score. The most likely place for it to be hidden was in John’s bag so Sherlock unzipped it and turned it over on the bed. He didn’t find what he was looking for but what did tumble out froze him on the spot. 

Sitting nestled in a pair of bright red underpants was a bottle of lube and a box of condoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So clearly this story isn't britpicked. If there's any confusion or glaring inaccuracies please let me know.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

John knew it was time to make his way back to the pond when he started to feel the abrasions that now covered his body. Small scratches from marching through the woods had clotted quickly but the scrapes on his shins were burning and the cut on his palm bled freely every time he clenched his fist. Which was often. 

John had decided Sherlock was a selfish prick who wouldn’t comprehend the human condition if it punched him in the face. John had also decided he might just test his theory when he got back to the cabin. He deserved no less for using John as a test subject without informing him. Jesus, he was supposed to be his best friend and sure, they’d had a pretty unconventional relationship over the years, especially recently, but the blatant disregard for John’s wellbeing and the total dismissal of his outrage was just too much.

He stopped to pull on his shorts at the pond and wondered what version of Sherlock he would find when he reached the cabin. Mostly likely it would be ‘ignore the problem until it goes away or John fixes it’ Sherlock. However, the Sherlock who just deleted unpleasant moments had also shown up quite a bit lately. It was too much to hope that ‘talk it out and get to the root of the problem like a normal person’ Sherlock would be awaiting his return. That Sherlock usually only came out when John threw a complete fit and it usually require some kind of physical restraint to keep the big baby in the room.

The sun was just dipping below the tree line when John stepped onto the porch. There were no sounds coming from inside and no lamps had been lit. The car was still parked out front so he was relatively sure Sherlock hadn’t completely abandoned him.

He swore loudly when he tripped over Sherlock’s discarded clothing just inside the front door. He stopped to take a calming breath before kicking the lot of it outside. He silently hoped a squirrel shit in Sherlock’s shoes. 

The cabin was dim but John knew it well and he reached the kitchen without further incident. He dug out the waterproof matches and lit a paraffin lamp before going for the first aid kit. He sat at the kitchen table and cleaned his cuts, wrapping his hand and taping it securely. Sherlock didn’t materialize and John thought maybe he’d gone for his own walk. Idiot would probably get lost in the dark. 

He lit a lamp in the sitting area in case he fell asleep before Sherlock appeared. His walk had exhausted him physically and emotionally and all he wanted to do now was find something to eat and then collapse in bed. Finding himself unwilling to make a fuss he threw together a jam sandwich and ate it standing over the sink. He desperately wanted tea but the effort to light the stove was too much and instead gathered his clothes and the lamp and went into the bedroom. 

He nearly jumped with surprise when he saw the figure sitting on the bed.

“Jesus Sherlock, warn a bloke! Have you been sitting there this entire time?” John moved toward his now empty bag. It was lying where Sherlock had obviously tossed it on the floor. He glanced at the pile of his belongings on the bed. “Searching for the chocolate?”

Sherlock didn’t answer, didn’t even move; just sat there staring at his hands where they were curled around his knees which were pressed to his chest. John started shoving his clothes back in the bag.

“Look, I know we need to talk about this, but I’m bushed and I just need to sleep. I’m not going to magically forget about the fact that we absolutely need to talk about this either, so don’t wake up tomorrow and feign ignorance about what I’m pissed about, alright?” When Sherlock still didn’t answer John looked up. 

Sherlock looked catatonic. John moved the lamp to the bedside table. That’s when he saw the items sitting at Sherlock’s feet. 

“Well fuck,” he breathed, staring at the small bottle of lube and the box of condoms. He glanced back up at Sherlock but the boy was studiously avoiding his gaze.

“Look Sherlock, it’s not-it’s not what it looks-fuck. I didn’t expect anything, I just,” John rubbed his hands over his face, not sure how to explain without sending Sherlock running. He’d royally screwed this up.

 

“I’m tired, and you’re tired and I think we should just get some sleep before, well just before anything else.” Sherlock closed his eyes and took a sharp breath through his nose. “I’ll sleep out there, ya? I won’t bother you, I promise. We’ll sort all this out in the morning, okay?” Still nothing.

John finished dealing with his clothes, shoving them in the bag with a little more force than was necessary. He hesitated before quickly snagging the offensive items and burying them at the bottom of his bag. 

“Do you need anything? Water? A sandwich?” He asked. Sherlock finally looked up, his eyes flicking rapidly over John’s face, reading everything that was there. John stilled and let him look his fill, used to it by now. When he was done Sherlock bowed his head again.

“I’ll leave you the lamp, just remember to put it out before you go to bed, right? Goodnight Sherlock.” He pulled the door closed behind him and pulled the quilt from the back of the couch. 

He sat heavily and put his head in his hands. What had he been thinking bringing that stuff? Well, he knew what he’d been thinking, but seriously? The lube was normal, it was helpful. But the condoms? They’d never used them before and he couldn’t claim he was just trying to save them from cleaning up the mess. Sherlock loved the mess. Sometimes John thought it was his favourite part. Lube and condoms? The two of them together only meant one thing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” John whispered. He may have just ruined the best thing in his life and all because he was a horny tosser. No, that wasn’t fair. He loved Sherlock. He knew he did. Didn’t he owe it to himself to at least try to figure out how Sherlock felt? He was pretty sure he did. He was also sure the best way to do that wasn’t with condoms and lube. 

The sound of the bedroom door opening brought his head up so fast his neck cricked. He rubbed it absently as Sherlock peered around the corner. He located John and shuffled toward him. John stayed silent and still, knowing Sherlock would make his reasons known if he wasn’t interrupted. 

 

Sherlock loomed over him, staring for a full minute before reaching out to run his hand through John’s short blond hair. He tugged gently and John straightened to lean back against the couch. Sherlock’s hand slid down to John’s jaw before he lifted his leg to straddle the shorter boy. John stayed as still as possible as Sherlock settled; knees bent on the couch and seated far back enough on John’s legs that there was still some distance between them.

“Explain,” Sherlock commanded. John raised his eyebrows. “You said we needed to talk about this so speak.”

“Um, I’m not sure we should be starting with me. Maybe you should explain what happened at the pond.” Sherlock frowned.

“No, you explain that.” He motioned behind him with his head.

“I don’t know if I can, I mean, it’s not that easy,” John tried to explain.

“Is that why you kissed me?” Sherlock asked. “Because you want…that.” 

“No, Sherlock,” John tried very hard not to find it endearing that Sherlock was blushing. “I kissed you because I wanted to. I thought-well I don’t know what I thought exactly, my brain was a little fried. But I know I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

“You thought me touching you meant you were permitted to touch me,” Sherlock said.

“Permitted? Yes, Sherlock, normally when someone touches you it means you’re allowed to touch them as well. Look, I know you don’t always understand the way these things work but surely you get the basics.”

“You didn’t ask me if you could touch me,” he said haughtily. 

“You didn’t bloody ask me before you shoved me against the rocks and put my cock in your mouth!”

“I was following your physical cues. One should never assume consent is given,” Sherlock looked away. “You didn’t ask the first time either.”

John stilled. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock. Are you telling me all this time you didn’t want any of it?” John thought back to that first night and no, he hadn’t asked if it was okay. Sherlock hadn’t said no, not ever, but that wasn’t the same as saying yes, was it? Fear mounted at the thought that he’d possibly been forcing his best friend into sexual situations for the past year and a half.

“I didn’t say that,” Sherlock said and John looked at him like he was crazy. 

“Then what the fuck are you saying because I’m about to have a heart attack! You are the king of mixed signals!”

“It just would have been nice to have been asked. I never do anything I don’t want to, you know that.” Sherlock waved the thought off as if it were nothing.

“But you do,” John argued, not convinced. “If I really want you to. If it’s important to me then you’ll do it. You complain about it non-stop, but you do it.”

“And have I ever complained about our activities?”

“Not until today.” John said quietly. Sherlock rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. They sat quietly, ignoring each other for a minute. It was extremely difficult seeing as Sherlock was still perched on his legs.

“I wasn’t expecting the kiss, that’s all,” Sherlock finally conceded. John nodded, resting his hands lightly on the other boy’s calves, relaxing. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” John said and Sherlock glared at him.

“I wasn’t startled, I don’t get startled.”

“What about when you went through my bag?” John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock scowled.

“I was…intrigued.” John’s fingers tightened.

“Intrigued?”

“Why do you keep repeating things? Do you still have water in your ears?” Sherlock deflected.

“I’m not the one that had his head under water, remember?” John smiled when Sherlock flushed right up to his roots.

“I was-“

“Experimenting, yes you said. That’s still not okay by the way. But let’s go back to you being intrigued. What does that mean exactly?”

“It means greatly interested or curious,”

“Yes, yes, I know that, you git. What does it mean for you? Were you simply curious about why I would want that or were you…”

“Was I what?” Sherlock asked archly.

“You know what,” John said. Sherlock went silent again but John let him be. He could see the internal debate going on in his friend’s mind. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, frowning. John gently rubbed his thumb across the solid muscles of Sherlock’s calves, trying to sooth him.

“Do you want that? With me? Is that why you brought them?” Sherlock finally asked.

“Yes,” John answered and the eyes in front of him went wide, pupils dilating.

“Why?” He whispered.

“Sherlock, do you have any idea how hard it is not to touch you when we’re together? To be that close, do the things we’ve done and to be terrified that if I lay my hand on you you’ll run? This,” John gestured to where Sherlock’s bottom rested on his thighs. “Is the most we’ve touched in nearly two years.”

“Sometimes we cuddle,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Yes,” John laughed. “But it’s not this. We usually fall asleep seconds after you arrange me how you want me. That’s not intimacy, Sherlock. I want to be able to touch you when the need strikes.”

“You need to touch me?” He sounded confused.

“Yes, of course. Every day.”

“Oh,” Sherlock put his hands on John’s forearms, hesitantly sliding them up and down. John enjoyed the feeling of the large, warm hands on his bare skin. Despite his exhaustion and his best efforts, his body responded with interest. “Oh,” Sherlock repeated when he noticed.

“Don’t worry about that, really. Why don’t we go to bed? Just bed.” John said. Sherlock looked at him through his lashes, a smile inching across his face.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said and slid his bottom up John’s thighs. John’s hands flew to his waist when Sherlock’s crotch came into contact with his.

“Guh,” he choked out. Sherlock laughed and rolled his hips. His laughter turn to a groan when his erection brushed alongside John’s.

“I think I like this touching lark,” he said, breathless. 

“I can make it better, I think. If you’re interested,” John told him, raising his hips to increase the friction. Sherlock moaned and nodded enthusiastically. “Can I?” John tugged at Sherlock’s pants. The dark haired boy quickly climbed off John and ripped off his pants and vest, diving for John’s flies once they were gone.

“Slow down,” John laughed when Sherlock snarled at the stubborn button on his shorts. “Let me, you’ll damage something.” John popped the button and unzipped his shorts.

“Why John Watson, you’re not wearing pants.” Sherlock scolded, climbing back onto his lap.

“The better to feel you with, my dear,” he said, reaching for Sherlock’s cock. The boy shuddered violently when John took him in hand.

“Christ,” Sherlock swore. John gave him a few slow strokes from root to tip before dragging his thumb over the head and spreading the precome pooled there. He reached for his own cock and repeated the motions. 

“Beautiful,” Sherlock whispered and John’s head came up. Pale blue-green eyes met his and the heat he saw in them made his cock twitch. He released himself and wrapped his wounded hand around the small of Sherlock’s back, urging him closer. Long, slender arms laid themselves along the back of the couch and Sherlock rested his head in the space between John’s neck and shoulder, looking down on John’s efforts. He slotted their cocks together and did his best to wrap his hand around them both. Using precome to lessen the drag he slowly started pumping. 

“John,” Sherlock ground out, breath coming heavy and quick.

“God, Sherlock, fucking perfect,” John squeezed his eyes closed and forced himself to breath. Heat was already pooling in his gut despite the slow pace of his hand. Sherlock quickly grew impatient and started bucking into John’s fist.

“I’m not going to last if you don’t slow down,” John warned, breathless.

“I’ve been waiting all bloody day for you, I need to come, John.” Sherlock bit down on his collar bone, making John start his own thrusting.

“Give me your hand,” he said and pulled on Sherlock’s arm. He wrapped the long fingers around them and used his own to cover the remaining space. “Like this,” he instructed, firming Sherlock’s grip. He pushed harder on Sherlock’s back, encouraging him to curl his spine into the movement.

“That’s it, love. Fucking brilliant,” John told him.

 

“John, John,” Sherlock muttered, losing himself in the rhythm. John whispered words of encouragement and pumped their fists in time with the rolling of Sherlock’s hips. 

Soon Sherlock’s pace became erratic and he was slurring John’s name loudly into the boy’s neck.

“That’s it, fuck, come on Sherlock, come for me,” he tightened his grip and added a twist on the upstroke, forcing Sherlock’s hand to follow. That was all it took to take apart the genius in his lap. 

Sherlock let loose a high keen John had never heard before and started moaning obscenely, shooting stripes across John’s stomach and their joined hands. The hot slip and pulse of Sherlock as he came dragged John along with him. He dug his fingers into Sherlock’s sweat-slicked back and thrust twice more before he was shuddering underneath him, covering Sherlock’s contribution with his own.

When John’s brain came back online Sherlock was dragging two fingers through the still warm cum, swirling it together. John chuckled and Sherlock brought his fingers to his mouth slowly, as though daring John to protest. John did nothing of the sort. Instead he was surprised to find it was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. Sherlock slid his fingers into his mouth and sucked hard. John groaned at the sight. 

As soon as the fingers were clean they were dipped back into the mêlée. This time he brought them to John’s lips and painted them delicately, spreading the slick around. Sherlock then leaned in to lick it off, pressing his mouth against John’s and sucking lightly on his bottom lip. John licked into Sherlock’s mouth, seeking permission this time. Sherlock opened wider and ran his tongue along John’s. At the taste of them combined on his tongue it was Sherlock’s turn to moan and he reached up to hold John’s head in his hands. 

John pulled back a bit and smiled.

“We should get cleaned up and go to bed,” he said, running his hands up and down Sherlock’s back.

 

“Mm, yes,” Sherlock said before leaning in for another kiss. John let him have it before pushing him away gently.

“Seriously, Sherlock, we’re going to get stuck together if we don’t move quickly.” Sherlock reluctantly climbed off John and picked up his discarded shirt, overbalancing slightly but recovering quickly. He gently and carefully wiped them both down and then carelessly threw the shirt over the back of the couch.

“You’ll be picking that up in the morning,” John warned him. Sherlock grabbed his wrists and pulled him to his feet.

“No, I won’t,” he said against John’s lips.

Once they were settled in bed, Sherlock wrapped around John, with his head tucked into the smaller boy’s neck, John hummed complacently. He was just drifting into sleep when Sherlock spoke.

“Was I everything you hoped for?” Sherlock asked shyly. John tightened his arms around his friend pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“More than I ever could have imagined.” John whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a little sugary at the end there. Yeesh, my teeth hurt.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter so far.

Chapter Six

Sherlock wasn’t in bed when John woke the next morning. He dug out a pair of clean pants and a t-shirt and wandered into the main room, stifling a yawn with his hand. Sherlock was fully dressed, perched in an armchair, balancing a large book on his knees. John couldn’t resist leaving a kiss atop his curls as he went by. 

“Tea?” 

“Mmm,” Sherlock responded.

John crouched in front of the old wood burning stove and pulled the box of supplies closer. After opening the air vents he made sure the firebox was empty of ash. He scrunched the newspaper into loose balls and piled them in the middle of the stove, adding the kindling and a few larger pieces of wood on top. He lit the newspaper and closed the door, allowing the fire to catch while he filled the kettle from the canteen of water they’d brought. There was a well and water pump on the property but they hadn’t been used since his Grandfather had lived here and God knows what it would take to make them serviceable again. It was easier to bring in fresh water and John made sure there were always a few extra jugs around, just in case. 

He put the kettle on the stove and added three larger logs to the growing embers. He wiped out the iron skillet with a cloth before adding it to the hob and rummaged through the cooler for eggs.

“I’m making breakfast,” he told Sherlock. “And you’re eating it.”

“I already ate,” Sherlock answered.

“Liar,” John laughed. He turned back to the cupboard to fetch mugs and tea. He was distracted by something smacking him in the back of the head. Bending down to pick up the object he realized it was the wrapper from the extra large chocolate bar he’d stowed away among the cleaning supplies he’d brought.

“You ate the whole thing?” he asked, going to stand by Sherlock’s chair to make frowning at him more effective. Sherlock looked up at him with false innocence in his clear eyes.

“I don’t know how it happened. I only meant to have a little and before I knew it the whole thing was gone. Maybe we have mice?”

“Bollocks, you ate it to spite me,” John told him.

“Not spite, John, never spite,”

“Why then? To prove you could find it?”

“Yes, obviously. But also because I wanted to.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get sick, that was a lot of chocolate,” John licked his thumb and wiped a lingering smudge from beside Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock stilled at the touch but allowed it. “You’re still eating breakfast.”

“But I’m full now,” Sherlock complained.

“Tough,” John didn’t miss the face his friend made before turning back to the kitchen. 

John cracked the eggs into a bowl, whisking them before pouring them into the skillet. He added the bags of tea to the mugs, pouring hot water over them and got plates from the cupboard. When he went back to scrape the eggs around the pan long arms circled his waist from behind and a cold nose nuzzled the nape of his neck. John laid his hand over Sherlock’s arm over his stomach.

“Haven’t changed your mind then?” He asked, dropping his head to the shoulder behind him.

“Nope,” Sherlock said and kissed the side of his neck.

“You’re a lot more affectionate than I thought you’d be,”

“That’s the chocolate. Keep me well supplied and reap the benefits.”

“Keep you well supplied and you’ll be twice the size you are now,” John joked.

“Everything in moderation, John.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word moderation. Excess, however…” Sherlock chuckled against his back and John enjoyed the vibrations it sent through him.

“True,” Sherlock agreed, slipping his hands lower. “Speaking of excess,”

“Breakfast first,” John laughed and pushed back with his hip.

“Maybe I am still hungry, but I don’t think it’s eggs I want,” Sherlock said, tugging at John’s pants.

“Oi, leave those alone!” John admonished, kicking out. “Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” He quickly transferred the eggs onto the plates and shoved them into Sherlock’s hands. He pulled the tea bags from the mugs and tossed them into the sink.

“I’m making up for lost time,” Sherlock told him, digging forks out of a drawer and heading back into the other room.

“No need to rush it, we’ve got loads of time now that we’ve finally begun,” John smiled, setting the mugs down on the side table.

“We’re only here for a few days,” Sherlock said tightly.

“Sherlock, the world will go on after we’ve gone back, don’t worry.” Sherlock shoveled eggs into his mouth and made a noncommittal noise.

“So, what are your plans for the day?” John asked in between bites.

“I thought I would lay in the shade and watch you wage war against the garden,”

“So, no change from the usual then?” John asked.

“No need to improve on a solid plan. Although, I may at some point indulge in something I’ve often considered while watching you perspire during manual labour,”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“You’ll see,” Sherlock promised.

 

True to his word, after breakfast Sherlock made a beeline for the shade provided by the large field maple in the yard. John added shorts, shoes and gloves to his attire and tossed a bottle of sunscreen onto the blanket Sherlock was reclining on.

“I’m in the shade, for God’s sake!” Sherlock protested.

“Have you forgotten falling asleep under that very tree last summer? The sun moves whether you’re awake to see it or not, Sherlock.” John continued on to the garden, pausing to mentally prepare himself for the futile battle he was about to forge. Behind him he heard the bottle of sunscreen opening and Sherlock’s muttering as he applied it. He rubbed his gloved hands together and waded into the fray.

Three hours later the sun was almost at its peak and John was sweaty and sore. His knees and back complained as he stood to stretch and the cut on his hand was throbbing. Wiping his brow on his forearm he surveyed his progress. Most of the bracken had been cleared and piled to be burned and the soil was freshly turned. 

His throat was parched and his skin prickled from the heat. He headed toward Sherlock under the tree hoping some of the water John had made him fetch earlier remained. One look at Sherlock spread out on the blanket in nothing but his shorts, neck arched as if in offering was enough to make John’s mouth flood with saliva. One arm was bent at the elbow, hand supporting his head and the other was palm down, long fingers spread across his flat stomach. 

John swallowed thickly. Sherlock was fast asleep, chest rising and falling softly. He was allowed to look his fill now without fear of being caught, but did he dare to reach out and touch? He wanted to crawl over his friend’s slumbering form and press him into the earth. Wake him with soft kisses against his full lips. How would Sherlock react if he did that? Only one way to find out.

John dropped to his knees and inched his way on all fours up Sherlock’s body. He stopped to drop a quick kiss against his sternum and another in the hollow of his throat before nipping softly at the pulse point. When Sherlock’s hand came up to cradle the base of John’s skull he suckled lightly at the thrum under his tongue.

He kissed wetly up Sherlock’s neck, enjoying the soft humming emanating from the body beneath him. Sherlock turned his head when John reached his jaw and pressed their lips together, sliding his tongue against John’s bottom lip. John let his mouth be explored, always happy to indulge his friend’s curiosity. After a minute or two he pulled back, looking down on Sherlock, thoroughly pleased by the high colour in his cheeks. 

“For someone who I’m fairly certain has never done this before, you’re extremely good at it,” John told him.

“Are you accusing me of something?” Sherlock asked, frowning. John bent lower to kiss the crease between his eyes.

“Nope, just giving credit where it’s due,” he smiled and felt Sherlock relax. 

“Just think what I could do with even more practical knowledge,” Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s back, stroking lightly from neck to waist. John shuddered at the contact.

“I have thought about it, quite a lot actually,” 

Sherlock smiled wickedly up at him and slipped his under John’s shorts, squeezing his arse through his pants.

“Sherlock, I’m all sweaty,” John laughed, voice husky.

“Mmm, I know,” Sherlock raised his head to lick a stripe up John’s neck.

“Ew, quit it!” John said, drawing back. “Why don’t we go for a swim, then you can practice on me all you want.”

“No, I like it here. We’re already lying down,” Sherlock squeezed again, grinding John down onto him. 

“Sherlock, I’m sweaty and gross. I probably smell.”

“You smell amazing, and you taste even better,” he said, licking at the other side of John’s neck.

“Seriously?” John asked.

“Oh yes, I told you I had plans for you and your efforts of manual labour,”

“I figured that just meant staring at my arse when I bent over,”

“I did that too,” Sherlock assured him. 

“So what’s the allure of this then?”

“Did you never wonder why I went to your rugby matches? Why I only ever appeared toward the end of practices and made you walk home before showering?”

“Not really, no.” John admitted.

“When you sweat your skin turns a lovely golden colour John, and your smell,” Sherlock pressed his nose into John’s neck, groaning. “Your smell is like crisp apples, tea, strength, and sunshine when you perspire. It’s intoxicating.”

“I’m pretty sure right now I just smell like dirt,” John said, taken off guard by the fervour in Sherlock’s words. 

Sherlock arched off the ground and judging by the erection pressing against John’s stomach, it wasn’t just lip service.

“Don’t be pedestrian, John. Would I get this excited about dirt?” He growled.

“For the right dirt, you absolutely would,” Sherlock’s hips fell back when he laughed.

“Yes, I probably would,” he smiled down at his friend and suddenly it hit John that this was really happening. Sherlock Holmes was lying under him, pliant and willing. How was he this lucky? 

He didn’t have long to ponder his good fortune because Sherlock renewed his grip on him and flipped them over, crushing himself into John.

“Ow, I think I’m laying on a rock!” John protested, squirming.

“Shush,” Sherlock told him, working his way down his neck, licking and biting.

“Maybe it’s a tree root, seriously, I need to mo-“ he cut off when Sherlock bit down hard on the side of his neck and John decided a little pain was a small price to pay for Sherlock’s full attention and obvious desire.

John sunk his hands into Sherlock’s hair, encouraging him when he started sucking in earnest on his hot skin. He was going to leave a mark and John’s stomach fluttered when he realized it would be visible, announcing to the world that John belonged to someone. He wondered if Sherlock would let him do the same.

Sherlock pulled back to admire his work, smiling and pressed a soft kiss to the abused skin. Slowly he made his way down John’s torso, tasting and licking sweat as if comparing the different concentrations. He spent a healthy amount of time laving at John’s nipples, moving from one to another and cataloguing what John liked and what made him keen and arch upward. John let out a shout of protest when Sherlock stuck his nose into his armpit.

 

“No,” he told him sternly, releasing his hair so he could shake his finger at the pale-eyed wonder pinning him to the ground.

“You’re ticklish,” Sherlock said.

“So are you, don’t think I won’t retaliate.” Sherlock nodded seriously and bit at John’s nipple, making him squeak.

He continued his trek southward slowly and John laid back to enjoy the sensation of being slowly wound tighter and tighter until Sherlock started to unbutton his shorts. Watching his friend closely he raised his hips helpfully so they could be pulled down. A wet spot had soaked into his pants and Sherlock sucked at it lightly, lending a tight heat to the head of John’s prick.

“Ahhh,” John breathed. Sherlock took that as encouragement and divested him of his pants as well.

“Come up here, let me touch you too,” John said.

“No, I’m not done,” Sherlock told him and pressed his nose into the junction where John’s groin met his thigh. John wanted to protest but the low moan that issued from the boy silenced him. Sherlock wasn’t one to feign interest in something he disliked, no matter the reward so John found himself trusting that he was actually enjoying John’s sweat scent and salty skin.

“I want to suck your cock,” Sherlock groaned into his hip.

“Oh, ah, okay. Thank you for asking,” John breathed, petting Sherlock’s head. A hand came up and pressed his palm against the dark head firmly. John took the hint and threaded his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, pulling gently to guide his full mouth to John’s throbbing cock. 

For someone who rarely listened, Sherlock took direction surprisingly well. John pushed down encouragingly and slid the head between his lips. For a few seconds Sherlock just held him there then tentatively his tongue came out to swipe at it. He flicked softly at the slit and ran the tip around and under John’s foreskin.

“Jesus,” John cried, only just stopping himself from bucking into the hot mouth on him. His reaction seemed to be what Sherlock had been searching for because he quickly took in more of John and sucked strongly. He was bobbing his head quickly and hollowing his cheeks. John tightened his fingers in Sherlock’s hair, lost in the overwhelming sensation. It was good, so good, but it reminded John of the quick blowjob he’d gotten from Becca Wilde in her parent’s basement. He’d gone down on her and she had felt obliged to return the favour, whether she wanted to or not. John had stopped her when it became clear she was just trying to get through it as quickly as possible.

He dragged his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and took in the studious concentration and slight grimace on his face. 

“Hey,” He tugged lightly on his hair. “Sherlock, stop for a minute would you?” Sherlock ignored him and started bobbing faster, taking John in too deep and choking himself in the process. He pulled off, sputtering.

“Are you okay,” John asked, sitting up to rub his back.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock insisted stubbornly, ducking his head back to John’s crotch.

“No, no, just stop,” John told him, grabbing at his shoulders. “Sherlock, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. “

“Of course I want to, I asked didn’t I?” He said, face going blank.

“Don’t do that, don’t shut me out, especially right now. Please,” John said, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

“What’s wrong? You’re obviously not enjoying yourself and you look like you’re performing a medical procedure.” Sherlock was silent, looking down at John’s waning erection.

“It was easier yesterday. You were surprised and that did half the work for me,” he finally admitted.

“You’re probably right,” John said. “It’s okay not to like doing it, you know.”

“I liked it yet yesterday,” Sherlock told him earnestly.

“Okay, so what’s changed?”

“It seems more important to get it right today. Yesterday was an experiment, today I, I have something to lose.” John had never seen Sherlock look so unsure in his life.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise you that. The rest of our lives do not hinge on the outcome of one blow job.”

“I know,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Do you want me to give you one? I could do that. I mean, I haven’t before, but I’ll do my best.”

“You’ve never done this before?” Sherlock sounded genuinely surprised.

“Given one? God no!”

“But you’ve received them before,” it wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” John admitted. 

“Good ones,”

“None that even compared to how I feel when it’s your mouth on me,” He said seriously. “Sherlock, knowing that you want this too is almost enough to set me off alone. I’ve spent a lot of nights imagining your cock in my mouth and mine in yours, you on top of me, me behind you, if it can be done, I’ve fantasized about it.” John reached out to trace swollen lips and Sherlock nipped at his fingers.

“How is it possible that I missed that?” He asked.

“Because you’re an idiot,” John said warmly, making the other boy smile. “Let me?” He asked, pressing his palm against the strained material of Sherlock’s shorts.

“Not yet. Practice makes perfect after all,” Sherlock said and pressed John onto his back. He wrapped his hand around John’s cock, bringing it back to full hardness. “You’ll tell me what feels good?”

“Have I ever missed a chance to praise you?” John joked and the other boy slipped lower. 

Sherlock’s lips were soft and slow this time, his tongue swirling against the shaft every time John slid out and pressed back in.

“God, yes,” he said, returning his hands to Sherlock’s head. “Slow is good. Suck a little, use your tongue, that’s it,”

Sherlock swirled his tongue around the head before sinking back down, hollowing his cheeks when he came up again.

 

“Fuck, Sherlock, you’re a quick learner,” Sherlock hummed and John arched as the vibrations travelled through his cock and straight to his balls. Sherlock pulled back a bit to keep from choking and then did it again. John’s breath sped up and he clenched the quilt in his free hand. 

Cool air hit his cock, making it jump when Sherlock pulled off.

“I want to take you deeper,” he said and John gurgled out a response. “I need you to hold very still,”

“Hold me down, use your hands on my hips, just like yesterday,” John said, breathless, wanting nothing more that Sherlock’s hot mouth on him again.

Strong hands held his hips as wetness engulfed him, moving slowly and pulling back slightly before taking him in deeper each time.

It was so unbelievably hot and John couldn’t keep from moaning. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to focus on not pushing Sherlock’s head further toward his groin. When Sherlock paused and swallowed around him John’s mind went white.

“Sherlock, I’m close, fuck am I close,” he whined and when his friend swallowed again John couldn’t help bucking upward. Sherlock held him down and hummed again, sending shockwaves through him. 

“Sherl-“ was all he got out before he groaned loudly and his world exploded. To his credit, Sherlock didn’t pull back. He patiently waited for John to finish coming, digging his fingers into his hip bones, and then gently sucked and licked him clean, swallowing thickly several times.

John rushed forward, pushing Sherlock to his back and pinning him to the ground. He forced his tongue into the other boy’s mouth and swept it around, tasting. Sherlock held him tightly, letting him finish before laying back, grinning smugly.

“You may have been made specifically to suck my cock,” John told him, nuzzling Sherlock’s ear.

“What a waste of all my other abilities,” Sherlock drawled.

“Hmm, nope. Not a waste at all,”

“That was much better, wasn’t it?” Sherlock gloated.

“That was the most brilliant thing I’ve ever experienced,” he covered Sherlock’s throat in soft kisses, shivering at the knowledge that he’d just emptied himself there. “I’ll have to invent some new tricks to top it,” John said.

“Oh John, I admire your drive, but I doubt you’ll do better,” Sherlock taunted. John pulled back to look at him, relaxing when he saw the teasing smirk on his face.

“Has doubting me ever served you well?” John asked, sitting up, knees on either side of Sherlock’s hips. “I didn’t think so,” He said when Sherlock didn’t answer.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sherlock asked, gesturing to his penis.

“Oh no, I have something very special planned for you, Mr. Holmes. You get it when I say you do,” John stood up, reaching out for Sherlock’s hand. “Let’s go for a swim.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you like naked men in ponds? I do!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEED THE TAGS, PEOPLE! The boys are about to go exploring! 
> 
> This chapter started the debate of come vs. cum in my head. There was a lot of arguing but I think I've figured it out. I decided that the boys will 'come' when they orgasm, and 'cum' will be the sticky result. Hopefully I've stuck to those guidelines in this chapter. If not, feel free to shake your heads at my inaccuracies and judge me accordingly ;-).

Chapter Seven

John led the way to the water. He reached out to link their fingers together and grinned when Sherlock arched his eyebrow at him. They stripped each other slowly, letting hands and mouths linger on newly exposed skin, learning.

They were forced to break apart once they entered the water and John found himself simply watching his friend. Every move Sherlock made was done with purpose and grace. He was economical in his actions, never wasting a movement. Even in a strop, every stomp and arm flail was calculated. The only time John had ever seen Sherlock let go and just react was last night on the couch. They had proved this morning that planning didn’t make everything better and John smiled at the thought that his new mission in life was to keep Sherlock surprised. 

Catching his grin, Sherlock frowned at him.

“What?” He demanded.

“Oh, nothing, just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,”

“Oh,” Sherlock looked surprised but recovered quickly. “Well, every man should have a noble cause.”

“Indeed,” John agreed. “So tell me you at least partially understand why ‘experimenting’ on me without my knowledge isn’t good.”

Sherlock groaned and rolled onto his back to float.

“If you’d known it was an experiment it would have skewed the results!” Sherlock argued. “It’s not as though we hadn’t established a baseline for sexual experimentation beforehand.”

“Sherlock, you better not be saying it’s all been an experiment,” John warned.

“No, of course not. Well, not all of it,” he admitted. “But in my defense, not that I need one, I was mostly experimenting on myself to deduce what my preferences are.”  
Sherlock looked over when John started laughing.

“What?”

“That’s what everyone does, you clot! If you’d just told me that I wouldn’t have stormed off.”

“John,” Sherlock said seriously. “I’ve found, over the years, that you occasionally require a good strop just as badly as I do. If you don’t get it you get restless and pick fights.”

“I do not pick fights!”

“You do,” Sherlock nodded. “About ridiculous, mundane details like how many pairs of your socks I ruined testing the effects of hydrobromic acid on elasticized cotton, or when I write corrections in your text books.”

“Okay, first off, those are not the same things at all. Secondly, is that what you did with my socks? Where did you even get hydrobromic acid?”

“I made it,” Sherlock shrugged.

“Of course you did,” John shook his head. “That still doesn’t mean what you did was acceptable.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Sherlock asked plainly.

“Of course I did,” 

“And did it get us here, to this point where we have decided to openly and mutually expand our sexual relationship?

“Well, yes,”

“Then I fail to see my error.” 

John sighed heavily, admitting defeat.

“Look, just no more experiments without my knowledge, yes?”

“You’re very bossy all of a sudden,” Sherlock complained. “But I suppose I can tolerate that.”

“Well thank you so very much for tolerating my basic rights as a human being,” John said sarcastically. Sherlock waved his hand like it was nothing.

“So, what were the results?” John asked, moving closer.

“Now you’re interested, are you?” Sherlock drawled, eyes closed.

“Hmm,” John affirmed. “Very interested.”

He ran his hand up Sherlock’s leg, avoiding his cock and continued up to his navel. John sunk lower, kissing Sherlock’s ribcage where it dipped into the water.

“My results were quite what I expected,” Sherlock teased. John kissed his side again, making him squirm. “My ability to hold my breath under water has diminished slightly over time due to lack of training.”

“You little shit,” John said, tugging him by the waist. Sherlock was mostly muscle and it was a miracle he was able to float at all. It didn’t take much to overcome his natural buoyancy and pull him under. 

Sherlock surfaced sputtering; looking like a cat after it had a hose turned on it. John laughed so hard his stomach hurt and only just caught the other boy as he lunged. Sherlock shoved down on John’s shoulders, and having been balanced on his toes already, John barely had a chance to suck in air before he was being held under.

He grabbed out at the body above him, finding sharp hips and pulling them closer. He let his hands trail down over Sherlock’s bottom and gripped his thighs tightly. As he was let up for air he pulled forward and wrapped long legs around his waist.

Chests heaving, they both went quiet. Sherlock was staring down at him in surprise and John silently congratulated himself. He ran his hands up to support Sherlock’s back and the boy draped his arms over John’s shoulders, leaning in to kiss him. He ran his hand over the back of John’s skull, making the short hairs stand on end. 

He could feel Sherlock hardening as he rubbed lightly against John’s stomach and John responded in kind. His cock was trapped beneath them and rubbed at Sherlock’s balls every time they moved. John bit at Sherlock’s neck, wanting to leave his mark there but the boy pulled away and shook his head.

“Not there,” he whispered and pushed John’s mouth to his shoulder. John latched on to the wet skin and sucked, tasting pond water, sunscreen and Sherlock. He worried the spot between his teeth and Sherlock started rocking in his arms. 

His cock slipped back between Sherlock’s cheeks, making them both gasp and still. John looked up to him, inching his hips minutely, asking permission. Sherlock bit his lip and nodded, dropping his head to John’s shoulder.

John pulled his hips back again, dragging the head of his cock lightly over Sherlock’s hole. He repeated the movement again and again and soon the body in his arms was shaking.

“Please,” Sherlock whimpered into his ear. “Please, John.” John held him tighter and sped up his movements.

“Soon, Sherlock. But not here, not like this.”

“Why? God John, please.” Sherlock sounded broken and it sent shivers up John’s spine.

“Because when we do it I want you where I can see you. I want to spread you out and take you apart. I want it to be good. I want you to be ready.” John explained, whispering even though   
they were the only two there. Sherlock groaned and rubbed his cock against John’s stomach.

“John, I need,” 

“I know, love, I know.” John held him tight and started for shore. Sherlock locked his ankles and clung to him as the water level decreased. 

He was still shaking when John laid him down on the flat rock at the water’s edge. It spent most of the day in direct sunlight and was warm to the touch. He unwound Sherlock from around him and ran his hands down his pale body.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, heart beating wildly.

“John,” Sherlock plead, arm thrown over his face to shield it from the sun.

“It’s okay, Sherlock. I’m going to take care of you.”

John dropped to his knees in the grass beside the rock, running his hands up and down Sherlock’s legs.

“Can you skooch down a bit for me?”

“No,” Sherlock whined.

“Trust me, you want to be accommodating right now,” John told him and Sherlock raised his head to look at him. Seeing where John was, kneeling between his legs with a smile had him quickly repositioning himself so that his legs were dangling over the edge of the rock.

“Good boy,” John pressed a kiss to his inner thigh. The hair tickled against his nose and for the first time it struck him how different the view down here was with a man above him. He examined the thought for a minute before deciding that if the underside of Sherlock’s cock and scrotum was the only sight he ever saw again he was okay with it.

He kissed his way up Sherlock’s thigh, licking at the warm spot where leg met body. Sherlock squirmed and arched a little.

“It’s going to be a bit hard for me to talk you through this so just let me know if something’s not alright, ya?” John said.

“I don’t require a play by play, John. Just get on with it.” Sherlock’s tone was demanding but John knew him too well to ignore the hint of nervousness underneath it. He raise himself up a bit   
to look his friend in the face.

“I’m serious, Sherlock. Anything you don’t absolutely love and you tell me, I don’t want to push you.”

“Is this you asking permission?” Sherlock drawled.

“Yes. Don’t worry, I won’t do it again.” John smiled.

“Good, continue.” Sherlock laid his head back down on the rock and took a deep breath.

John went back to leaving small kisses along his leg, tongue darting out to taste all the hidden places. He trailed his tongue over Sherlock’s scrotum and gently sucked one of his balls into his mouth. Sherlock jumped slightly but stayed silent and relaxed quickly. John rolled the skin around in his mouth, noting the texture and feeling the quiet movement of the testicle on his tongue. He released it and repeated his examination with the other one. When he let the second one go he dipped his tongue behind them and swiped it over Sherlock’s perineum, pressing firmly before dragging back over the sack and up the length of his cock, savoring the precome that had begun dripping onto the boy’s stomach.

Sherlock groaned deeply and cupped John’s jaw in his hand, pushing it back on target when John strayed from the head.

“Patience,” John laughed, licking back down to the root. He nudged Sherlock’s legs over his shoulders and swirled his tongue behind his balls. 

“Fuck,” Sherlock growled. John pressed his lips to the spot and hummed. The thighs on either side of his head tightened.

“I still have to breath, Sherlock,” John chuckled.

“Breathing is boring,” was the breathy response. 

Feeling brave and encouraged by Sherlock’s reactions so far, John moved his tongue back further, stoking lightly around Sherlock’s hole. He felt the body above his tense completely. He gently licked again, fluttering over the hole and Sherlock moaned loudly. 

Smiling to himself he kissed it softly. Sherlock let out a soft sigh and finally relaxed against him. He licked attentively at the tightness until it began to loosen slightly. He sucked gently at the top edge and Sherlock bucked into the sensation.

“Jesus, John,” 

John placed his lips over the hole and pointed his tongue, gently prodding the taut muscle. Slowly it began to yield under his attentions and he was able to fuck it gently. Sherlock was shaking again, reaching down to clutch whatever parts of John he could reach. He let out a satisfied moan and John pulled back when he realized Sherlock was stroking his own cock.

“Hey, none of that,” he said softly, removing Sherlock’s hand.

“Joohn,” he whined.

“No,” John told him sternly, making Sherlock pause and look down at him. “Only I touch you, is that clear? You don’t even scratch your elbow without my permission, got it?” 

Sherlock’s eyes went wide and his face flushed at John’s harsh commands but he nodded his head silently and folded his hands on his chest.

“Good boy,” John patted his leg and returned to Sherlock’s arse. He sealed his mouth over the hole once more, this time running his tongue around it with more pressure, making Sherlock shudder violently. He slid his tongue back in, setting a relentless pace and relishing the warm firmness and musky taste that surrounded him. He gripped Sherlock’s thighs, fighting to keep him in place as the other boy cried out loudly.

His own cock was leaking freely and he gathered as much precome as he could on his index finger. He brought his hand alongside his face and slowly, gently, slid his fingertip in with the next thrust of his tongue. Sherlock moaned long and loud as John slowly penetrated him with both. His hole loosened quickly with the combination of precome and saliva and soon John had his finger buried in his friend’s arse.

He pause to let Sherlock adjust to the new addition. He pressed firm kisses to Sherlock’s thigh until he started grinding down on John’s finger.  
“Move,” he groaned and John smiled.

“Like that, do you?” He asked, licking at the base of Sherlock’s cock.

“Yessss,” he slurred as John twisted his finger on the way out. 

“You’re so tight, love. It’s amazing.” John told him.

“More,” Sherlock pleaded. John growled and removed his finger, quickly gathering more of his own precome and then some of Sherlock’s with two fingers. He quickly rubbed at the now slackened muscle and sunk his fingers in. Sherlock swore and pushed into the stretch.

“God, Sherlock,” John said, pushing deeper. He moved up and took Sherlock between his lips, swallowing as much as he could. Sherlock arched up sharply and wrapped his fingers around John’s head.

Soon Sherlock was thrusting his cock up into John’s mouth and grinding his arse down onto his fingers as hard as he could. John tried to focus on not choking and twisting his fingers as he pulled out. Sherlock was quickly coming undone above him and John’s own cock was aching despite having reached completion earlier. 

He crooked his fingers, brushing over something firm inside Sherlock and the boy screamed. John stilled his hands and popped off his cock.

“That’ll be your prostate then,” he said cautiously. Sherlock’s eyes were wide and staring into the sky. “Are you okay?”

“Do. That. Again.” Sherlock breathed. 

Gently, carefully, John rubbed the nub again. Sherlock swore and shuddered.

“Is that a positive reaction?” John asked, unsure.

“If you’re going to fuck me, do it now and for God’s sake don’t forget where that is located,” Sherlock told him very seriously. John chuckled.

“So good then?” Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, eyes still wide. “Good,” John said and slid his mouth around Sherlock’s straining cock once again. 

He continued thrusting, only brushing the prostate on every third stroke or so, not wanting to overwhelm it. John was going into premed; he knew the benefit of thorough research.  
The position was slightly awkward and his legs protested but Sherlock’s breathing had sped up and John didn’t want to stop for his own benefit. His jaw began to ache and his fingers were threatening to cramp when Sherlock moaned and his cock jerked in John’s mouth. The muscles contracted around John’s fingers, almost pushing him out. He pressed back in, sweeping the pad of his middle finger over the gland and Sherlock cried out, pulsing across his tongue, his fingers clenching in John’s hair. It was hot and thick and John’s first impulse was to pull away but Sherlock had done this and so could he. He focused on relaxing his throat, waiting for Sherlock to finish before backing off and swallowing a few times. 

He slowly removed his fingers and wiggled them to help restore blood flow. He crawled up Sherlock’s body, peering down at his friend. His pale skin was flushed and his hair was plastered to his wide forehead. John leaned down and licked at his throat.

“Mmm, you don’t taste half bad either, you know,” he murmured against Sherlock’s Adam’s apple. 

When he got no response John nudged his jaw with his nose.

“Are you still alive?”

“No,” Sherlock groaned. John chuckled, pleased with the results of his efforts.

Swinging his leg over Sherlock’s body, he settled on the top of the boy’s thighs. His knees complained at the roughness of the rock but he forgot the pain when he took himself in hand. He stroked himself slowly, taking in the sight of Sherlock, warm and satiated beneath him. 

Sherlock opened one eye when John quickened his pace, jostling him. Both eyes popped open when he realized what John was doing. He licked his lips and put his hands on John’s waist, encouraging him to scoot closer. John obliged, watching the hunger awaken on Sherlock’s face.

“That was fucking amazing, Sherlock. You have no idea,” John told him. Sherlock’s eyes darted up to his face and then back to his cock quickly.

“Tell me, John,” he said quietly.

“God, you’re so tight, so hot and warm and just, fuck. You’re that tight around my fingers and all I could think about was how tight you’d be around my cock,”

“Yes, John, yes,” Sherlock encouraged. “Why didn’t you? I wanted you to.”

“Oh God,” John shuddered. “I will, baby, I will. Soon,” John’s focused on the head, squeezing firmly before stroking the shaft again quickly. He wanted to close his eyes tight but the look on   
Sherlock face had him pinned in place. The look was pleading and powerful all at once, like he was demanding John take control of him. 

“Come one John,” Sherlock whispered, watching his hand fly over his prick. “Come on me.”

Sherlock licked his lips again, brushing his hands over the small of the other boys back and that was all it took for John to come unglued. His breath punched out of his chest and he bent low over Sherlock, painting him with stripes of cum. He groaned deeply as it went on and on. Distantly he could hear Sherlock saying his name and petting his back but John was too lost in his own bliss to do anything but surrender and ride it out.

Sherlock was kissing his face, muttering about viscosity and volume. John sighed heavily against him.

“I need a nap. And a sandwich,” he croaked out.

“Yes, whatever you want, I’ll make it for you and then tuck you into bed,” Sherlock promised, causing John to pull away and look at him worriedly.

“Um, what?”

“Whatever you want, John, it’s yours. Just promise me you’ll never stop,” Sherlock pleaded.

“Stop what? Sherlock, what’s wrong?” He realized the other boy was shaking under him, breathing quick and shallow. John scrambled off but Sherlock clutched at him and they almost went   
tumbling off the rock.

“Hey, hey,” John tilted Sherlock’s head up. “What happened, where are you?” 

Sherlock didn’t answer, just buried his face in John’s neck, starting to hyperventilate. John wrapped Sherlock’s long limbs around him once more and heaved himself up. He carefully walked back into the water with Sherlock clinging to him. He went deep enough to lessen the weight of his friend and rubbed his back, hoping to sooth him. He pressed kisses to Sherlock’s head and swayed gently, caught off guard with the reaction the boy was having.

After long minutes Sherlock’s breathing evened and he relaxed a little. John stayed silent, wanting to give him time to gather his thoughts. 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered into his neck. John could feel the heat of Sherlock’s embarrassment radiating against his skin.

“It’s fine, it’s all good,” John told him. “Are you ready to have a little wash? If we don’t we might be stuck like this eternally.” 

“Might not be so bad,” Sherlock said.

“True, true. But I’d rather it be because we wanted it and not because we got fused together in some rogue spunk explosion.”

Sherlock laughed and pulled away, disengaging his limbs from John.

“Rogue spunk explosion?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Why do you repeat everything I say? It’s so pedestrian,” John teased, rubbing at the gumming in his chest hair.

“What can I say? You, John Watson, render me daft,” Sherlock told him, reaching out to help.

“Never, you’ll always be a genius. I’m just apparently the only one with the ability to shut you up-Ow!” John jumped back when Sherlock pulled out a few hairs along with the drying cum.

“I’ll do mine, you do yours,” he said, swatting away Sherlock’s hands.

When they were as clear of residue as could be accomplished with cooling pond water, they struggled wet bodies into dry clothes and started back to the cabin for some lunch. Along the way Sherlock pointed out tree, plant, and bird species John couldn’t have cared less about but it was nice just to listen to the timbre of his friend’s low voice. 

They reached the porch hand in hand and John tugged Sherlock gently to him.

“I’m not going anywhere, you know that right?” He asked. Sherlock went still and looked away.

“I mean it. You don’t have to worry about that. If you haven’t scared me off by now, I doubt you’ll do it by getting a little emotional.”

“A little?” Sherlock sniffed and John tugged on his hand again to get his attention.

“Sherlock, I lo-“

“Don’t,” Sherlock interrupted, pressing his hand to John’s mouth. “Please don’t.”

John frowned up at him but relaxed when he saw the fear in the other boys’ eyes. Sherlock wasn’t ready and John had promised himself he wouldn’t push. Instead he nodded and kissed the palm covering his lips.

“So where’s my sandwich?” He asked as soon as the hand was removed. Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked into the cabin.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been supremely overwhelmed with the response for this piece and have the tendency to obsessively refresh the page to check the hits. I was thinking if we could hit 1500 hits (almost double what it is now, I think) before the end I would offer up a short piece of your choosing. Something fluffy, something angsty, something porny, kidlock, teenlock, parentlock, a combination of genres, you tell me! Would that interest anyone? Let me know in the comments, and as always, bless you all for reading!
> 
> teacup


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked my ass a little so I apologize if it's not up to snuff. Please disregard the boys' lack of fire safety. It made things too wordy. I also hadn't planned on having any real smut in this chapter but alas, penises appeared. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

In the end John ended up making the sandwiches. They ate in companionable silence on the couch, pressed together from hip to knee. When John came back into the sitting room from doing the washing up Sherlock was sprawled across the couch, eyes closed. John shook his head and smiled. He knew that when they were in the city Sherlock rarely slept. His mind buzzed with information constantly and only seemed able to calm itself when they were here. Having John in bed with him helped and on nights when Sherlock stayed at his he was able to get in small naps. He almost never slept as much as he had since they’d arrived though.

After grabbing a book from the shelves that lined one whole wall of the cabin, John lifted Sherlock’s feet to sit down, laying them back in his lap when he was settled. Sherlock grumbled at the jostling but quieted when John started stroking the top of his bare foot.

“I thought we might go into town tomorrow,” John said after a few minutes of quiet. He knew Sherlock wasn’t sleeping because he was purring softly every time John ran his fingers over his ankles. He had some of the oddest erogenous zones.

“Is my company no longer sufficient?” Sherlock asked, not opening his eyes.

“Oh, you’re more than enough to keep me occupied, trust me,” John squeezed his foot. “I just thought it might be nice to get out, eat something that isn’t a sandwich, maybe get some ice cream before we head back.”

Sherlock regarded him with one eye.

“A date. You want us to go on a date,” he said accusingly.

“The only reason it would qualify as a date is because now we’re shagging and actually acknowledging it. If we’d done it last week it would just have been us having a day out,” John told him.

“So you do want us to go on a date,” Sherlock said scathingly.

“Know what? Never mind. I’ll go alone and you can stay here and calculate how my level of annoyance toward you affects the gas mileage in your car.” John shoved Sherlock’s feet off his lap, face heated, and tried to stand.

Sherlock ruined his dramatic exit by throwing himself onto John before he could get off the couch. Finding himself with a lap-full of lanky teenager, who weighed much more than you’d think for his slender frame, John huffed in annoyance.

“Don’t leave,” Sherlock said and John looked at him sharply. The memory of Sherlock, clinging and distressed at the pond little more than an hour ago gave John pause. He wrapped his arms around his friend and kissed his shoulder.

“I’m not leaving, Sherlock. I’d never do that. I do reserve the right to let you know when you’re being a git though.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and adjusted himself to a more comfortable position.

“I don’t understand why a date is necessary,” Sherlock told him, wiggling around some more at John’s grunting protest of a sharp elbow to the gut. “We’ve been out plenty over the years, I fail to see why we have to label it as a date now.”

“We don’t have to, I didn’t say that. I just want to take you out now that I know I’m allowed to. I’ve always been keen to show you off, Sherlock, you know that. Before it was because I was so proud that you were my friend and I wanted to shout out to the world that this brilliant creature, the boy who is bored by nearly everything in existence, somehow, finds me interesting.”

“And now?” Sherlock asked.

“Now I want to walk down the street, holding your hand so that people know that you’re mine. It’s medieval and barbaric, I know, but I can’t help it. You’re such a treasure, love, and I’m so grateful that I’ve won you.”

“Sentiment,” Sherlock sniffed, making John laugh.

“So you don’t feel anything like that then? For me?” John asked, nuzzling his nose into the spot below Sherlock’s ear.

“Don’t be ridiculous; I’m above such things, John.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Maybe we’ll go into town and I’ll see if I can find a nice girl who will let me take her for dinner then. I’m sure it won’t be too hard, I’ve been told I’m charming.”

It was juvenile and goading, John knew, but it also worked so he didn’t dwell on it.

“You’ll do no such thing, John Watson!” Sherlock roared, looking shocked and angry. John laughed and smoothed his hand down the other boys back.

“Why not? You won’t let me show you off so I’ll have to find something else to do.”

“John,” Sherlock said sternly. “I forbid you to so much as even look at anyone else while we’re in town.”

“So we are going then?”

“If you insist,” Sherlock sniffed. “But under no circumstances are you to touch, or even talk to anyone you may find even slightly interesting. In fact, just don’t talk at all.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” John raised an eyebrow at him.

“I meant it, no talking. You open that mouth of yours and people can’t help but like you. It’s not so much the words that come out but the sincerity and confidence that appeals to others.” Sherlock was waving his hands around while he spoke, a sure sign that he was flustered.

“Hmm, is that what it is? And what do you find appealing then, love?” John asked softly. Sherlock turned to him, pale eyes flicking over his face, taking in every inch.

“Everything,” Sherlock said earnestly. “You have kind eyes, John. They’re safety when you’re happy with me. When you’re angry though they’re hard as steel and I swear sometimes just   
having you look at me with them is enough to wound. Your mouth is thin and wide and produces the brightest smiles I’ve ever seen.” He brushed his fingers softly over John’s lips.

“It can alter my entire mood, did you know that? When your smile is genuine and your eyes crinkle it makes me want to open you up and crawl into your chest; to stay there always. When   
you’re mad though, you smile then as well. It’s tight and hard and I think it’s the sexiest thing in the world even when it terrifies me.” Sherlock took a shuddering breath, eyes still roaming   
over John.

“You’re whole face is open and inviting. You’re the greatest man I’ve ever met, John. The moments with you are the only ones that have purpose.” Sherlock finally met John’s eyes and the love and warmth in them had John pulling the other boy against him, tilting their heads to brush a heated kiss over his lips. Sherlock turned in John’s lap and cupped his friend’s face in his large hands. The kiss deepened but remained soft and slow. 

John bit down lightly on Sherlock’s bottom lip before pulling back to look at him. Sherlock’s eyes were closed again, as if he couldn’t handle the emotions rolling around inside him. John leaned forward and kissed each eyelid gently. Then he nestled Sherlock in his lap, pushing the dark head onto his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around his friend and picked up his book,   
settling in for a quiet afternoon.

 

Around four John shuffled Sherlock out of his lap. He flexed his legs, shaking them out and gritting his teeth against the feeling of pins and needles. They both used the outhouse and John lit a fire in the yard to burn the debris from his morning of gardening. 

Sherlock, having been still for far longer than was natural, started poking around the grounds, finding items he thought interesting and tossing them in the flames to watch them burn.  
He grinned when pinecones popped and sizzled, laughed at the small explosions when he tossed in handfuls of powdered creamer from the kitchen.

“Should I be worried?” John asked, eyeing him carefully.

“Relax John; I’m not going burn anything important.”

“Your definition of important varies greatly from mine, Sherlock. That’s what worries me.”

“Well I’m not going to throw you in there,” Sherlock sent another handful of powder into the fire, jumping back from the swelling flames.

“Well ta for that,”

“Of course, if I was, I would make sure to cut the appropriate tendons to ensure they didn’t curl during incineration.”

“You’re such a romantic,” John told him dryly and Sherlock smirked.

“That’s the last of the weeds; I’m going to check for fallen branches around back. Don’t light the house on fire,” he said and walked away. When Sherlock didn’t answer he turned back. “Just don’t light anything else on fire, ya? Watch the pretty flames die down and don’t singe your hair.”

“You ruin all my fun, John,” Sherlock sighed. 

John walked around the back of the house where the land had been cleared for about sixty feet before the woods started again. There were still a few trees scattered throughout the yard and a recent wind storm had brought down some of the weaker limbs. He started gathering and depositing them beside the chopping block to be cut into firewood. 

On a trip to the edge of the woods for a particularly large branch, John tripped over a piece of earth that had obviously been freshly turned. He stared at it for a minute trying to figure out what may have done it but honestly, out here it could have been any number of things.

He returned to the cabin for the axe and returned out back, now trailing an interested Sherlock and his blanket.

“Not planning on helping again then?” He asked.

“I thought I’d study your form. Wouldn’t do to have you hurt your back chopping wood improperly,” Sherlock answered, shaking out his blanket a few feet away.

“Always looking out for me, aren’t you, love?”

“Always, John,”

John smiled to himself and started cutting the larger of the branches into pieces. Three quarters of an hour later he was sweating and had just started on breaking the wood into chunks   
suitable for the fireplace and stove. He paused, walking over to Sherlock, who held up a bottle of water.

“Ta,” John unscrewed the cap and started gulping. “I think I’m dehydrated from all the extra energy we’ve been burning.”

“Burning energy doesn’t dehydrate you, fluid depletion does,” Sherlock corrected.

“Fluid depletion caused by burning excess energy,” John responded and threw the plastic bottle at him. Sherlock caught it deftly, rolling his eyes. 

“So, how’s my form?” John asked.

“Hard to tell when you’re wearing that much clothing,” Sherlock said smoothly.

“Funny how I don’t fancy taking my pants off when I’m wielding an axe,”

“The thin layer of material you’re sporting would do very little to impede the blade of the axe, I assure you. In fact, injuring yourself while nude would save significant time and effort for the   
emergency staff because they wouldn’t have to cut them off you or deal with fabric in the wound.” Sherlock said smartly.

“Yeah, nope. Still not taking my kit off,” John told him and walked back to the chopping block. 

Another hour later his back and arms were aching warmly and his stomach was growling. He stocked the logs in the wood shed along the back of the cabin and fell down beside Sherlock on the blanket after removing his shoes.

“I’m exhausted,” he complained.

“Take off your shirt and roll onto your stomach,” the other boy told him. 

John was too tired to protest and did as he was told. Sherlock perched at the top of his thighs. He slowly ran his hands from the top of John’s shorts to his shoulders and stared kneading John’s sore muscles.

“Ungh, that feels good,” John slurred.

Sherlock slowly and thoroughly worked his back and shoulders, unlocking tense muscles and soothing sore joints.

When Sherlock reached his lower back he paused before moving back and tugging on John’s shorts.

“Take these off and I’ll do your legs,” he said. 

“Too tired, you do it,” John muttered, eyed closed.

Sherlock dug his finger under John’s hips, searching for the button. Once it was undone he rid John of not only his shorts, but pants as well. Again John was too tired to protest. As long as Sherlock didn’t expect him to expend any energy he was happy to let his friend explore.

Strong, warm hand smoothed over his bottom and thighs until they brushed over his feet, making him jump. John growled and Sherlock squeezed his heels in apology.   
The blanket was warm, the ground comfortable, and by the time Sherlock had reached his knees, John was asleep. When he awoke it was to Sherlock sliding his tongue along the top of his arse crack. John moaned when the tongue slipped lower. 

Sherlock sucked kisses up his spine, laying himself over John as he went until his cock was nestled down the length of John’s arse cheeks.

“Is this okay?” Sherlock purred into his ear. John arched his head back, brushing his ear across Sherlock’s mouth and nodded. He laid his head back on his arms and enjoyed the movements of the boy on top of him.

Sherlock dragged his cock along John’s crack, spreading precome as he went. Gently, he pressed between the cheeks and groaned at the sensation. His prick fit nicely, John thought to   
himself and lifted his hips up in encouragement. Sherlock pressed his forehead to John’s spine and started rocking. 

Sherlock’s panting was the only noise other than the chorus nature was providing. His cock slid back and forth against the sensitive skin of John’s arse and when John moaned Sherlock’s pace sped up. He ground himself into John, hands on either side of his friend’s shoulders and toes digging into the earth beyond the blanket. 

John was startled when Sherlock slid one hand under his arm, gripping the top of John’s left shoulder and leaning on his elbow for better leverage. His other hand went to John’s right shoulder, fingers biting into skin. His thrusts gained power as he shoved their bodies together and soon his rhythm became erratic. John heard his breathing quicken and Sherlock keened, burying his face into John’s neck. A few more thrusts and Sherlock was shouting John’s name, spilling between his cheeks and across his lower back.

Sherlock collapsed on top of John before rolling off and sprawling across the rest of the blanket.

“John,” he croaked.

“I’m right here, love. Are you alright?”John asked, patting his friend’s leg.

“No, John. I think I may be dead.” Sherlock told him, voice gruff.

“Only you would still be able to talk after you’d died,” 

They were quiet while Sherlock caught his breath.

“Why didn’t we do this before? Why did we limit ourselves?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, I supposed we were scared. I don’t know about you, but a move in the wrong direction and I would have lost an awful lot,” John said.

“Hmm, yes that sounds right. We’re idiots,” Sherlock laughed. John pulled himself to the side, laying over Sherlock’s chest and kissed the boy soundly.

“Yes, we are,” he agreed. “Something dug up the yard,” he said, eye catching the patch of earth he’d tripped on earlier.

“Hmm?” Sherlock craned his head to when John was looking. “Oh, that was me,”

“When? What did you dig up?” John asked, resting his head back on Sherlock’s chest.

“This morning before you woke, but I didn’t dig up anything,” he answered.

“Then why is the soil turned?”

“I buried the bird,” Sherlock said quietly and John stilled.

“Really? That doesn’t seem like something you’d usually do,” he questioned gently.

“It’s not,”

“Then why?”

“It was a Goldcrest Tit, they’re not usually found this far into woodlands,” 

John hummed, waiting for the rest of Sherlock’s explanation. 

“There was no nest. I looked around the cabin in an area the radius a bird of that maturity and species could fly but found nothing. There were also no signs of trauma to explain its death.” 

“And what did you deduce from that?” John asked, listening to Sherlock’s heartbeat.

“The bird was young, too young to be away from its nest for a long period of time. It must have flown off on its own in the absence of its mother. It grew exhausted from the longer than usual flight, not yet understanding its limits, and collapsed from exhaustion. Most likely died from heart failure.”

“That’s sad,” John told him, stroking his side. “Little thing just wanted to see the world.’

“That’s what happens when you step outside your box, John.” 

John raised his head, frowning down at his friend.

“No, it’s not. Sometimes when you leave your comfort zone you experience amazing things. Things that change you, make you better,” he said.

“And sometimes your heart just can’t take all that excitement and it gives out on you,” Sherlock looked away.

“Sherlock, we’re not-“

“Can we sleep out here tonight? The stars are lovely,” John frowned at the sudden change of subject but let it go.

“No, last time we did that you woke up covered in insect bites. The stars are not incentive enough to listen to you complain about being itchy for the next two days. ”

“Hmm, it’s so hard being delicious,” Sherlock’s mouth quirked up at the corner and John lunge forward to bite at his neck, making the other boy squirm.

“Mmm, you’re right, you are delicious. And I’m disgusting. I’m running down to the pond to wash up, go light the stove so we can eat.” John jumped up and gathered his clothing. He left Sherlock on the blanket, muttering about how domineering John had become lately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst! As of the time I am posting this chapter we're about 500 hits away from a special posting! Please let me know in the comments what you'd like to see. I was thinking maybe the day the boys first met when they were ten. If you'd prefer something else, let me know! Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, real life intervened and didn't allow time for writing! Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Nine

The next morning the boys drove into the nearby town. It wasn’t a big place; a few interesting shops and diners along a paved main street. There was an old cinema, an art supply store, an arcade, and not much else. 

Sherlock was having a sulk because John had resisted his attempt at keeping them in bed all day. He sped all the way into town on the dusty back roads, only slowing when they hit the main track where he was more likely to get pulled over for driving like a jackass.

John pretended not to notice and turned the radio up. Even when Sherlock parked and slammed his door, stalking away from the car, John got out slowly, stretched, and headed in the opposite direction toward his favourite breakfast diner. He knew Sherlock would turn up eventually and wasn’t about to let him ruin the day.

John greeted the lady who ran the diner, Rosa, and sat happily with his coffee waiting for his order. Fifteen minutes later Sherlock slid into the booth across from him as if he hadn’t stomped around all morning.

John smiled at him, nudging Sherlock’s foot with his own. The other boy smiled back, ducking his head when Rosa delivered their plates.

“You ordered for me?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“Of course, can’t have you starve.” John told him.

Sherlock was silent a minute, watching John’s face before muttering his thanks. They tucked in and discussed their plans for the day. John was happy just to wander the streets, maybe catch  
a movie. Sherlock raised his eyebrow at that, smirking.

“Really, John? The two of us in a darkened theatre. Hmm, it makes me wonder...”

“Doesn’t it just?” John grinned at him. “Although, I’m tempted to keep you on edge all day,” John said, lowering his voice.

“And why is that?” Sherlock asked, leaning forward.

“So that you’re desperate for it when I fuck you tonight,” John growled. 

Sherlock jerked in surprise, banging his knee loudly on the underside of the table. The other patrons of the diner turned to look at them and the dark haired boy nearly slid under the table in his embarrassment. John smiled smugly at him.

“John, we’re in public!” He hissed.

“Yes, Sherlock, we are. And if I want to proposition my boyfriend at the breakfast table, I will do so. Anyone who doesn’t like it can bugger off. Besides, I said it quietly,” John said and bit into his toast.

“Boyfriend?” Sherlock echoed.

“Yes, boyfriend,” John said firmly.

“Oh,”

“Eat up and we’ll head to the hardware store,” John told him, draining his coffee and signalling for more.

The rest of breakfast was silent, Sherlock having withdrawn into his head and John reading the local paper while he waited. It was all very...domestic, John thought. He rather liked it.  
They stopped into the hardware store so Sherlock could ask the man behind the counter a million questions about rope. By the time they left the older man looked quite unsettled but Sherlock was pleased with the information and his newly acquired length of braided nylon. He wasted no time fashioning into a noose and draping it over his shoulders, stroking it lovingly as they walked.

“That’s disturbing, Sherlock. People are staring at us,” John told him.

“I thought you didn’t mind if people looked at us, John. I could tie us together if you’d prefer?” Sherlock said mildly.

“Hmm,” John hummed, sliding his hand along the knotting. Sherlock looked down at him sharply.

“Oh, would you like that then?” John asked, surprised. Sherlock cleared his throat, blushing fiercely and raised his chin.

“Perhaps,”

John smiled, brushing his friend’s hand with his own as he lowered it. He knew Sherlock was uncomfortable with public displays of affection such as holding hands so he kept his own desires in check.

They wandered the shops for a few hours, talking and joking as if nothing had changed. To John, nothing really had. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t want to be with Sherlock and having him come willingly to his bed only fortified that need.

There was an old gangster film starring James Cagney playing at the theatre and John pushed Sherlock into the lobby. It was midday during the week and the place was nearly deserted. The bored girl at the ticket counter took their money and then shuffled over to the concession to sell them snacks. She rolled her eyes when John told her to have a nice day and Sherlock knocked over a display of fake popcorn boxes. He pulled John away when he tried to help the girl pick them up.

There were three old biddies seated near the front of the theatre but otherwise it was empty. Sherlock led John to the back row and draped himself across a seat. Half an hour into the movie Sherlock grew bored of tying and retying knots with the rope, using John’s right wrist as an anchor. He slowly slid his hand onto John’s knee and squeezed lightly. 

John ignored him, keeping his eyes on the screen. When he didn’t get a response, Sherlock’s hand slid a few inches higher and he squeezed again. John had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling but still didn’t respond. He was willing to wait and see where Sherlock was headed with the groping. He didn’t wonder long as the other boy huffed in annoyance and pressed his palm to John’s crotch. John jumped at the sudden contact and his popcorn went flying. He cursed loudly and one of the women at the front turned around to glare. He smiled tightly at her and then swore again softly when Sherlock started rubbing his half hard cock.

Despite the arousal it spiked in him, the zipper of his shorts soon started to chafe. He reached down to still Sherlock’s hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the palm before linking their fingers together.

He could feel Sherlock glaring daggers at the side of his head but he didn’t turn to him. With another huff, he shifted his long legs, slouching in his seat. He kept his hand in John’s as he trailed the other up his inner thigh. When he reached his groin he cupped it firmly and groaned softly.

John stiffened but still didn’t turn. Instead he squeezed Sherlock’s hand encouragingly. Sherlock’s response was to run his fingers firmly over his testicles and up his cock through his shorts. John cleared his throat in warning when Sherlock moaned. The next sound he heard from beside him was a zipper descending. 

John watched Sherlock from the corner of his eye as the other boy pushed his shorts and pants down, his cock springing forward with enthusiasm. John licked his lips and adjusted himself. He heard Sherlock chuckle at the move. John tilted his head just slightly to get a better view when Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around his cock.

His groan was thankfully drowned out by gunfire onscreen but John was close enough to feel the vibrations where their shoulders and arms were pressed together. Sherlock started stroking himself slowly, laying his head back against the seat, his jaw going slack. A few strokes in, Sherlock let go and licked his palm before starting again. He was sensitive, John knew, and usually used lube when wanking. A few more strokes and he could see the other boy wincing slightly with each tug. John reached out with his free hand and pulled Sherlock’s away from his prick. He spit delicately into the boy’s palm twice and replaced it, setting up a slow rhythm before drawing back to let Sherlock control it. 

Returning his head to its forward position, John smirked when he caught Sherlock’s hand speeding up in his peripheral vision. The other boy’s breathing hitched and he slid down another few inches. John crushed their fingers together, silently cheering him on.

Within minutes Sherlock was bucking up into his fist and let out a sharp breath through his nose, whining quietly. John knew he was getting close and twisted in his seat, not letting go of his friend’s fingers. He pushed Sherlock’s hand off his cock and replaced it with his mouth. Sherlock’s hand went to John’s hair, pushing down as he raised his hips to shove himself further into the other boy’s mouth. A few sucks was all it took before Sherlock let out a guttural moan and came hotly down John’s throat, choking him slightly. John breathed heavily through his nose and stayed where he was, licking and sucking at Sherlock’s softening cock until it was clean. 

As soon as he pulled off he let go of Sherlock’s hand and stood up. He looked down at his friend, breathing hard, before walking out of the theatre. He could hear Sherlock tripping along behind him, trying to get his shorts back together before they hit the empty lobby. John led the way into the men's toilet, turning on Sherlock before the door had even latched, and crowded him against the wall. He curled his hands in the other boy’s shirt and shoved.

“What the fuck was that?” John demanded, pressing himself against his friend.

“John,” Sherlock said, concerned. “Are you mad? I didn’t mean-“

“Didn’t mean what, Sherlock? To wank in a public theatre? Did you even think about the mess you would have made if I hadn’t taken over?”

“I’m sorry, I-" Sherlock was visibly flustered so John pulled him down, crushing their lips together. 

“Don’t you ever fucking apologize,” he told him. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

John nipped at the other boy’s throat and Sherlock reached out to throw the lock on the door.

“That was so sexy. I nearly came in my pants,” he breathed against the pale skin of Sherlock’s throat.

“I tried to-" Again John cut him off with a kiss.

“Tried to what? Hmm? Tried to wank me in the back row? Make me come all over myself with those old bats sitting up front? Would you have found that amusing, love?” John was rubbing himself against Sherlock’s hip, his cock aching.

“No, John,” Sherlock slid his knee between John’s thighs, increasing the friction. 

John shoved Sherlock into the wall again before releasing him to open his own flies and yank his clothing out of the way. Sherlock’s were next and then John was skin to skin with the smooth expanse of Sherlock’s hip. He pushed the other boy’s shirt up to his armpits and bent his head to suck at a nipple. Sherlock hissed, his body still sensitive from his own release, and John bit down lightly on the nub. Sherlock bucked forward, snaking his hands down to John’s arse and pulling him forward roughly. 

“Fuck, oh fuck,” John muttered into Sherlock’s shoulder. The other boy slid one hand up under John’s shirt and brought it back down, digging his nails in. John cried out, his movements  
frenzied. Sherlock bent his head and licked the curve of John’s ear.

“Come on, John,” he growled. 

“Yes,” John hissed. “Talk,”

“Do you like the sound of my voice, John?” Sherlock purred in his ear. “What do you want to hear, hmm? Do you want me to tell you how good it felt to have your lips wrapped around my cock as I fucked your mouth?”

John groaned and slipped his fingers between Sherlock’s arse cheeks, rubbing lightly.

“Oh, is that what you want to hear?” Sherlock chuckled. “Do you know that I used to lie in bed, touching myself and thinking about you? It wasn’t as good as having you there beside me, but when I was alone I could finger myself and pretend it was you.”

John choked out a sob at the admission and grabbed at Sherlock’s arse, spreading him further and skimming his hand lower. Sherlock gasped when John’s finger brushed over his hole.

“Yes, John, yes,” 

John could feel the pressure building and knew he was getting close.

“That’s nothing, John. Nothing compared to when you do it. Your fingers, your tongue. And soon your cock. I can’t wait, John. I want you to fuck me.”

John cried out, leaning back slightly to splash cum across Sherlock’s stomach. The other boy gripped his arse firmly, grinding them together and then rubbed his back firmly until John’s breathing slowed. He looked up at his friend. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t say it. Sherlock had asked him not to.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered instead. Sherlock grinned and kissed him chastely.

“I’m also rather soiled,” he said. 

John pulled away to survey the mess.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” he said, stuffing himself back into his shorts. “Here, let me clean you up.”

He grabbed a handful of paper towels and wiped away the worst of the rapidly drying cum. Sherlock remained slumped against the wall and let John wet a few more and rub at him, trying to remove the residue.

“Well, at least you’re presentable now,” he said.

“Yes, because I’m sure no one will suspect a thing when we both leave the loo at the same time after having been in here for so long,” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine, it’s not like there’s anyone around anyway.”

John was regretting his words when he opened the door to find the bored girl from the ticket counter standing outside the door. She eyed them critically.

“What were you doing in there?” She asked.

“Ah,” John started and then froze.

“He was helping me with my zipper,” Sherlock drawled, sliding past both of them and stuffing his rope into his back pocket. “Come, John.”

John smiled sheepishly at the girl and hurried after his friend.

They made it to the alley way behind the theatre before they collapsed, giggling, against the brick.

“Oh my God, she absolutely knows what we were doing in there,” John gasped.

“Most likely,” Sherlock agreed, nodding.

“Does that bother you?” John asked, sobering.

“She’s hardly important,” Sherlock waived his hand.

“What if she were? What if she’d been someone we know?” 

Sherlock sniffed at his shirt.

“I smell like semen, we should go back to the car and drive out to the campsite to use the showers,” he said.

“Sherlock,” John put his hand on the other boy’s arm. “Are you going to answer the question?”

“John, you know I don’t answer stupid questions,” Sherlock told him with a frown and a quick kiss before stepping back onto the walkway and heading toward the car.

John tried to tell himself that Sherlock was just being cautious. It was all still new and it would take some time for them to adjust. Sherlock wasn’t like other people, John reminded himself.  
He kept everyone at arm’s length and for him to have let John in like this was a big deal. It was one thing to enjoy a mutual wank every now and again but something else entirely to allow sentimentality into the venture. Hell, he’d just let John suck him off in a theatre and then talked him to orgasm in the men’s toilets. If that wasn’t love, what was?

John took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and hurried to catch up.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me a bit and totally didn't end where I thought it was going to. I promise there will be porn in the next chapter! It will hopefully be up by Friday!

Chapter Ten

The campsite had been busy; filled with city folk anxious to get away now that summer had officially begun. By the time the boys had showered and made it back to town it was mid-afternoon and Sherlock insisted on exploring every shop along the main strip they hadn’t already been in. 

John followed him happily, content to watch his friend flit from one display to the next, searching for God knows what. They’d spent more than an hour pouring over antique medical texts in the bookstore and John had made a note to return with more funds to purchase some of the rarer tomes. Sherlock had found a book about unusual poisons and was clutching it to his chest as though it were treasure.

John had no intention of rushing through their day but by the time they entered the second hand store on the corner his stomach was making itself heard. Sherlock frowned at him when it voiced complaint as they walked through the door.

“What?” John asked.

“Can’t you control that thing?”

“Nope, it pretty much does the controlling,” John smiled up at him, resting his hand on his abdomen.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and wandered toward the back of the store. The owner was a lady in her fifties, wrapped in linens and silks behind the counter. She welcomed them and left them to browse. John was sorting through a pile of belts when he heard Sherlock’s voice.

“Oh,” he boy gasped.

John wasn’t tall enough to see over the racks so it took him a minute to locate his friend. Sherlock was swirling a long, tweed coat over his shoulders. John watched him for a minute, hidden from view. The coat suited him, despite obviously being meant for much cooler weather. It was slightly big in the shoulders and across his chest but John had no doubt he’d grow into it.   
What really caught his eye though was the way Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror. John had never seen him look so confident. Or beautiful. Sherlock knew he was intelligent; had been told that by everyone around him since he had uttered his first words, but John had often wondered if anyone had bothered to tell him that he was enough. His family was prestigious and had high expectations. Every time a goal was met a new one immediately replaced it, often without congratulations. The Holmes family demanded perfection and John knew Sherlock sometimes struggled under the pressure. 

Draped in the fine coat Sherlock looked at himself like he could do anything, be anything. It was a look John hoped to see more of.

“It suit you, that.” John stepped into view, nodding at the coat. Sherlock’s eyes met his in the mirror, the light in them fading a bit as though he’d been caught at playing dress up. 

“What’s wrong?” John asked, stopping beside him.

“It’s a bit grand, isn’t it?” Sherlock said, unsure.

“Absolutely not,” John responded, dragging his eyes up and down the other boys frame, making him straighten up under the examination. “It’s perfect.” John smiled.

“You think so?”

“Definitely, you have to get it-“ John was interrupted by the owner joining them.

“Oh, look at you!” She exclaimed. “Goodness, it looks made for you, doesn’t it?” She clasped her hands together happily.

“See?” John said. 

“We don’t usually get anything this posh but a local family had a son from the city pass away a few months back. They brought in all his stuff once they’d gone through it. Most of the suits and things have already sold but the coat’s been harder to move’

“Well it is July,” Sherlock drawled and John nudged him with his elbow.

“How much?” John asked. The woman looked at Sherlock appraisingly, finger across her lips.

“Normally I’d charge more for it but it suits you so well I’ll let it go for £150.” She told them.

Sherlock sighed heavily and shrugged the coat off his shoulders.

“I spent mine on the book, I didn’t bring more.”

“Jesus, how much was the book?” John blurted and Sherlock shot him a glare. 

“How about £100?” She asked. “I probably won’t get more than that anyway, considering,”

“Considering what?” Sherlock said, sharply.

“The man that coat belong to? He died in it,” she told them in a hushed voice even though there was no one else in the store.

“Interesting,” Sherlock muttered.

“See, it’s meant to be,” John said, smirking. Sherlock scowled at him, then at the coat in his hands.

“I can’t,” He looked so disappointed John couldn’t stand it.

“I’ll get it,” he laid his hand on Sherlock’s arm.

“John,” Sherlock’s voice was low. The woman looked between the two of them and then silently returned to the front of the store.

“I’ve serious, Sherlock. I have it,”

“You just happen to have a hundred pounds in your wallet right now?” He looked at John suspiciously.

“No, but I’ve got it in my account,”

“That money is for school, John. I cannot allow you to waste it on me.” Sherlock argued.

“Hey, nothing I do for you is a waste, got that?” John waited until Sherlock nodded, ears turning pink. “I’ve got the money and I want to buy it for you. That way no matter where we end up,   
every time you put it on you’ll know it was from me.”

Sherlock stared at him, reading the look on John’s face. After a moment he seemed to accept what he saw there.

“I’ll pay you back when we return to the city,” Sherlock insisted, making his way to the front.

“You will not,” John said, following close behind. He leaned in close while they were still out of earshot of the owner. “If you really want to pay me back I take payments in other forms.”

Sherlock stilled, looking back over his shoulder at John. The next thing John knew he was being pushed behind a clothing rack and snogged enthusiastically. 

 

They ate dinner at a little Italian place tucked down a back alley the lady at the clothing store had recommended. They were seated in the front window, away from the other tables; visible but mostly undisturbed. Sherlock paled visibly when the waiter produced a candle for the table and winked at them. John grinned into his fist.

Once they’d ordered and their drinks had been delivered the boys sat in a companionable silence, just observing the restaurant and diners around them. John was watching a teenaged couple make out in a back booth while the elderly patrons beside them threw bits of food into the young lover’s hair, giggling madly when it went unnoticed. John smiled to himself.

“Juvenile,” Sherlock scoffed, taking a sip of his water.

“Yes, and I hope when we’re their age we’re just as bad,” John reached across and squeezed Sherlock’s hand. The other boy shifted uncomfortably and John returned his hand to his lap.

“You’re not big on public displays of affection, are you?” He asked.

“What was your first clue?” Sherlock asked archly.

“Don’t get upset, I was just asking a question,” John said.

“I just don’t see why relationships need to be flaunted in front of others. What we have, what we do, is private and I’d rather not be gawked at by half the town.” 

“Okay, I get that,” John agreed. “But I would like to be able to kiss you or hold your hand when the mood strikes.”

“You may, as long as we are in private at the time,” Sherlock told him.

“So if I reached out to touch you right now, you’d get up and walk out?” John tried his best not to sound hurt.

“John, I just-" Sherlock paused as the food was delivered. “I understand the desire to broadcast our fondness to others but I would prefer if we kept it private for now.”

“Fondness? Sherlock how I feel for you goes beyond fondness, I hope you realize that,” John told him earnestly. Finally Sherlock looked up.

“For me as well,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I want others to know,”

John frowned at him.

“What, like, ever?”

“I don’t know!” Sherlock threw his hands in the air. “This is all very new for me, John, and to be truthful, it’s overwhelming.”

“Okay, calm down. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to push you.”

“Well you are,” Sherlock swallowed half of his water.

“I’m sorry,” John sat back and pondered how to have this discussion without sending the other boy running. It needed to be on Sherlock’s terms, he needed to be in control to keep from panicking.

“How about this,” John said. “Ask me anything. You seem unsure, and like you said, overwhelmed, so let’s figure things out. I’m an open book.”

Sherlock eyed him critically, weighing his words.

“I can ask you anything and you’ll respond truthfully?” He asked, watching John shift uneasily in his seat.

“For you, yes. Anything.” 

“Hmmm,” Sherlock took a bite of his chicken, watching the other boy closely. John swallowed nervously but managed a smile before digging in to his pasta. Sherlock would start when he   
was ready and not a moment sooner.

“Why?” Sherlock finally asked. John paused in his chewing. 

“Why what?” He said after swallowing.

“That first time, in your room. Why did you...do that?” Sherlock blushed.

“Why did I ruck down your trousers and watch you touch yourself?” John asked quietly, leaning in.

“Yes, that. Why?”

“Because having you like that, right beside me, was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” John answered truthfully. “It was like one of my fantasies come true.

“You fantasized about me before then?” Sherlock sounded surprised.

“Oh yes, many times,” John said with a wicked grin.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know, at least two years,”

“Two years?” Sherlock said loudly. He glanced around but there was no one near enough to have noticed his outburst.

“Yes,” John chuckled. “You really had no idea?”

“No, I dare say I was too preoccupied with my fantasies of you to notice.”

“Yeah, right,” John scoffed, taking another bite. Sherlock stared at him, a serious look on his face. “Oh my God, really?”

“I would hardly admit to it if it weren’t true,” Sherlock told him.

“Okay,” John cleared his throat. “So, what kind of fantasies?”

“I believe you said I could ask the questions,” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and John rolled his eyes, nodding.

“Go on then,”

“Tell me what you thought about when you thought of me,” Sherlock asked.

John felt his face grow warm and he reached for his glass, wish he’s ordered wine. After taking a deep breath he spoke.

“Well, the one that got the most play was,” he cast an eye surreptitiously around them. “You, on your knees.” 

“Details,” Sherlock demanded.

“Jesus, not here,” John begged.

“You said you would answer anything.”

“And I will, I swear. But later, when we’re alone and not surrounded by people who will notice I can’t walk straight when I get up to use the loo.”

“Oh,” Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Just talking about it arouses you?”

“Of course it does!” John hissed. “Especially with you sitting right there.”

“Well I suppose we can save that for later then,” he smirked. 

“Thanks,”

“Why did you continue to engage in sexual acts with girls once we’d started...doing that?”

Sherlock was back to studying his plate and John wasn’t much braver. It was a tough question with the potential to hurt them both.

“Well, I guess because we never talked about what we were doing. We never touched each other, really. I just supposed you didn’t want anything more and I figured I would act like I didn’t either.”

“I see,” Sherlock rested his elbows on the table, laying his chin on his folded hands. “Why didn’t you seek out other males?”

“Why would I?” John asked, confused.

“John, you cannot have failed to notice that you are less than completely heterosexual.”

“No, of course not, but you’re the only bloke I’ve ever felt this way about. Hell, the only person.”

Sherlock gaped at him, blinking slowly.

“What do you mean?” He finally demanded.

“Are you sure you want the answer to that?” John asked. Sherlock straightened up and paused a moment.

“I believe so,” he said cautiously.

“Okay then,” John rubbed his hands together before placing them palm down on the table. “All those girls, they were like, passing time. I knew it was you I wanted, but I figured I’d get in some practice while I waited for you to come around. They were there and willing.”

“So you used them?”

“Not exactly, it’s not like I was thinking about you all the time I was with them. I think that’s why I never got with a bloke; I knew I’d just be picturing you. Girls are different, literally. No way was I going to confuse who I was with.”

“So you’ve never done anything with another man?”

“Nope, I knew when the time came I wanted it to be you. Only you.”

“And if the time had never come?”

“Then I probably would have stuck to girls.” 

Sherlock sat back, thinking. John was finished his meal before Sherlock spoke again.

“There was another boy,” he said quietly. “After we...started.”

John’s head snapped up. Sherlock was staring at his hands again, voice rough.

“Oh,” John choked out. He tried not to sound hurt but knew he’d failed when Sherlock sunk his face into his hands. 

It was unfair, he knew that. He’d been with plenty of girls and Sherlock had every right to experiment on his own as well. He just couldn’t help but feel like Sherlock had been unfaithful.

“John, please just listen,” Sherlock’s voice was strained. “Like you, I felt the need to experiment.”

“Yep, good,” John said, quickly, staring at a spot over Sherlock’s left shoulder.

“No, just listen,” Sherlock begged. “I knew I wanted you, but I knew that you were, experienced.” 

He said the word delicately and John’s stomach dropped.

“I wanted to come to you with enough knowledge to make you stay,” Sherlock continued. “You always dated girls and I thought what we did was an aberration. A bit of rough on the side, if you will,”

“Sherlock,” John started but the other boy held up his hand to silence him.

“Please, John. Just let me finish. I thought I needed to have something special to make you stay. I theorized without all the data and I was wrong. I didn’t understand how you felt. Now I do.”

“And how do you think I feel?” John said quietly. Sherlock looked at him tenderly, a small smile on his face. He reached out and ran his fingers softly over the back of John’s hand.  
John watched as Sherlock stroked his hand and felt a lump form in his throat. 

“I swear to you, John, there was nothing intimate about my interactions with the other boy.”

“Tell me,” John said, still watching Sherlock’s hand.

“We kissed, that’s all. He wanted more but I couldn’t help thinking I was somehow treating you badly by being with him. It only lasted a few minutes and I haven’t spoken to him since.”

“Who was he?”

“A boy in one of my classes. He’s expressed his continued interest a few times since then but nothing has come of it. I wanted my firsts to be with the one person who actually matters.”   
Sherlock gave him a small smile.

“I-" John stopped himself with the words still on his tongue. Words he wanted so desperately to say. “I appreciate you telling me.” He said instead, turning his palm over and squeezing Sherlock’s fingers.

The waiter reappeared for their dishes and Sherlock withdrew his hand quickly. They declined dessert and waited for the bill in silence. God, John thought, his mind buzzing. Was this how Sherlock felt when he knew John had been out with a girl? Did it hurt like this for him, knowing John was touching other people? He was suddenly nauseous.

“John?”

“My God, Sherlock, I’m so sorry.” John told him. He could hear how panicked and high his voice sounded but he was beyond being able to control it.

“John, stop, it’s fine.” Sherlock assured him.

“No, it’s not. I hurt you and I didn’t even realize it!” Just then the waited returned with the bill, eyeing John nervously.

“He’s fine,” Sherlock snapped and the waiter left. “John, control yourself before you make a scene.”

John took a deep breath and stood up, heading for the door. He didn’t stop until he had rounded the corner and found himself in a small courtyard. He was breathing hard and had to lean against the wall to keep upright. 

A few minutes later Sherlock found him, forehead and fists pressed against the bricks

“John,” Sherlock said, brushing his hand over John’s shoulder. “I think you’re overreacting.”

“I am not, I hurt you.” John said between clenched teeth.

“John, I had no expectations of you then. You’re right, we never talked about what we were doing, didn’t even give it a name. You had every right to see other people, as did I.”

“I should have known,” John insisted, punching the wall lightly. Sherlock scoffed.

“Please, you can barely string two sentences together on a good day. What chance did you have at understanding my mind?”

“Prick,” John huffed.

“Mm, yes.”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. If I’d known,” he trailed off.

“I know, and that’s why I’m not upset. Do I like thinking of you sleeping with those girls? Absolutely not, in fact I plan on deleting the knowledge as soon as possible. But I understand that you had a right to get on with your life. Besides, I’m the one reaping the benefits of your forays into promiscuity.”

“Oi, I’m no slag!” John protested, turning around.

“Of course not, John,” Sherlock patted his head. “You’re a highly knowledgeable and considerate lover.”

John frowned at him but Sherlock seemed sincere.

“I may have overreacted,” John admitted.

“You absolutely did,” Sherlock told him. “But I forgive you.”

“Thanks,” John said sheepishly. 

“Now, shall we return to the cabin?” Sherlock asked, offering his hand.

“What about ice cream?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“If you insist,”

“Are you going to have some?” 

John accepted the hand and wrapped his other around Sherlock’s waist, keeping him close.

“I’d rather watch you eat it,” Sherlock purred into his ear, nipping at the lobe. “Perhaps we should take it with us.”

John shivered, remembering what awaited them when they got back. He pulled Sherlock down by his nape and slipped his tongue into the other boy’s mouth. Sherlock’s fingers curved around John’s hips, pushing him back into the wall, opening his mouth to the other boy. Despite the stress of his outburst, John felt lust spike straight into his groin. He rocked slowly against Sherlock until the other boy pulled away.

“Save it for later,” he whispered, kissing the side of John’s mouth.

“Right, later,” John said, letting Sherlock take his hand and lead him back to the main road. He let go as soon as there were other people around but stayed close enough that his shoulder brushed John’s as they walked.

“You know, I think I prefer your possessiveness when it’s directed at ensuring I know I’m yours rather than when you turn it on yourself with guilt.” Sherlock told him.

“Me too,” John assured him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only about 150 hits to go until I post a bonus chapter! Thanks for sticking with me!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR SEXY TIMES!!!
> 
> So I'm just going to stop promising that chapters will be posted on certain days because that's clearly not working. I stressed a lot over how this chapter would go and in the end it was much easier to write than I had anticipated. Hopefully you all like it as much as I do!

Chapter Eleven

In the end they skipped the ice cream. 

The ride back to the cabin was tense with anticipation of what would happen once they got there. Sherlock was having trouble keeping still behind the wheel. His skin felt like it was on fire and he almost drove off the road twice when his mind wandered to thoughts of John. He reached over and grabbed John’s hand, tugging it into his lap. He focused on the road and the feeling of the smaller, rougher hand under his. He heard John take a deep breath beside him and Sherlock relaxed a bit knowing he wasn’t the only anxious one in the car. He pulled up close to the cabin and forced himself into precise, measured movements. John knew he wanted it; there was no need to advertise how eager he really was.

John’s hands shook as he unlocked the door and Sherlock ran his palm firmly down the other boy’s spine, resting his fingers at the small of his back. John turned to him and pressed a chaste, reassuring kiss to his mouth. They both knew where the night was leading and why; there was no reason to panic.

“Wine,” Sherlock said once they were inside.

“What?” John asked, surprised.

“Some wine might be beneficial. Do we have any?” He headed for the kitchen.

“Yes, but are you sure?” John asked, following him. “You’re not a big drinker and it might not be a good idea...considering.”

“Considering what I’m about to let you do?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. “I’d say it’s a very good idea.”

“Oh,” John said from the doorway.

Sherlock started opening cabinets in search of the bottle he knew John had packed. He exclaimed in triumph when he found it and pulled down two tumblers from beside the sink. He turned back to John, holding up his prize but the other boy was no longer standing there. Frowning, Sherlock went into the living room. The front door was open and he could see John standing on the porch, arms resting on the railing. Leaving the bottle and glasses on the side table, Sherlock joined him.

“John?”

“Yeah,” John said, not turning around. Sherlock studied him for a minute, noting the tension in this shoulders and the dejected hang on his head.

“Oh, for God’s sake, John, I don’t need the wine to go through with this!” He huffed. When the boy didn’t respond Sherlock slipped his arms around his friend’s chest, pulling John against  
him and away from the railing.

“John,” Sherlock whispered into his neck, kissing it gently. “I want you, why don’t you believe me yet?”

“I do, Sherlock, it’s just,” he shrugged slumped back into his friend.

“The wine was just a suggestion. We’re both a little on edge with expectation; I thought it might calm things down a little. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m nervous, nor am I willing to deny  
that I want this.”

John let out a shaky breath and laid his arms over Sherlock’s where they embraced him.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I just keep expecting to wake up.”

“I know I’m a nightmare but surely it won’t be that bad.” Sherlock rested his shin on John’s shoulder.

“Stop it,” John chuckled. “You’re only a nightmare when you want to be.”

“Come inside,” 

“Hold on,” John turned in his arms, leaning back to look up at him. “I just need you to be really, really sure that this is okay. Doing...this, before you’re absolutely ready could ruin us. I don’t want that.”

“John Hamish Watson, if you don’t stop this nonsense and take me inside right now I’m going to get in the car and leave you here to play with yourself. I have expressed my feelings on this matter several times and dealing with your tentativeness is now boring me.”

“Sorry, what was that? I wasn’t listening.” John said. Sherlock huffed and pushed away, ready to stomp back inside. John caught him by the wrists and pulled him close, trapping his hands between them.

“Maybe I just like hearing you say it,” he said in a low voice. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Sherlock leaned in close, relishing John’s sharp intake of air and the dilation of his pupils.

“I want you to take me inside, peel off my clothes, and fuck me.” He said, enunciating each word. “Do you think you can handle that?”

“Oh, God, yes,” John breathed before capturing Sherlock’s lips in a bruising kiss. He forcefully steered him backward through the door, not stopping until Sherlock’s legs collided with the bed, forcing him to sit. 

John kicked the door closed with his foot and Sherlock scoffed.

“Who do you imagine will hear us?”

“Shut up,” John told him, kicking off his shoes. 

Sherlock followed suit and reached for the hem of his shirt. John reached out to stop him, gently pushing him down on the bed.

“Budge up,” 

John waited until Sherlock had rotated and was propped against the headboard. He slowly climbed onto the bed, crawling up the other boy’s body. Sherlock swallowed thickly as John seated himself in his lap, knees on either side of his hips. His hands went immediately to John’s waist, sliding up under his shirt to feel the warm, tanned skin beneath.

“This position rather changes what I had in mind,” Sherlock whispered, leaning forward in search of a kiss. John evaded him, running his own hands over Sherlock’s taut stomach and up his chest.

“We could you know. Whatever you want,” John whispered back.

“No, I want you inside me.” Sherlock told him, trying again to catch John’s lips.

“Maybe next time then,” John said and Sherlock shivered when fingers rubbed over his nipples.

“You’d let me?” He asked, gasping when the rubbing turned to plucking.

“God, yes,” John said and kissed his jaw. “I’m glad we’re doing it this way first, but I want you in every way, Sherlock.”

John nipped lightly and licked his way down Sherlock’s neck. He tried wiggling his hips against the body on top of him but John squeezed his knees tightly, discouraging him. Sherlock whined softly and the other boy chuckled.

“We’re slowing down, remember?”

Sherlock nodded absently, dragging his hands up John’s back and taking his shirt with him. There was no protest when he pulled the shirt over the other boy’s head and threw it across the room. He cupped John’s face, pulling him close and kissing him hard. Sherlock lost himself in the feeling of John’s tongue and breath in his mouth. Something heavy was settling in his chest and he was terrified of examining it too closely. 

“God, Sherlock,” John said, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s forehead.

Sherlock nodded, petting at John’s back. He was afraid of what might come out if he tried to speak so he settled for clinging to the other boy. John leaned back and reached for the hem of Sherlock’s shirt, tossing it over his shoulder once it had been removed. He slid off Sherlock’s lap and pulled at his legs and hips until he was lying supine on the mattress. 

John kissed him lightly on the lips, dragging his teeth over Sherlock’s full bottom lip before continuing down his throat and onto his chest. He stopped to lap at a nipple, crossing to the other once the first had been raised to a tight nub. He sucked lightly and Sherlock twisted his hands in the quilt beneath him to keep from whimpering. John’s lips and tongue were sending jolts of pleasure through him and he could feel his cock fully awaken. 

John licked down Sherlock’s sternum to his stomach; running his fingernails over his friend’s sides and making him squirm. Sherlock’s breath caught and he squeezed his eyes shut when John’s tongue dipped into his navel. John paused, looking up at him.

“Sherlock?” He said, sounding unsure.

Sherlock nodded his head vigorously, keeping his eyes closed tightly. He felt John crawl back up to him and stretch out on his side.

“Are you okay?”

“Why did you stop?” Sherlock whined, breathing heavily.

“Because you look a little overwhelmed and you’re too quiet. What’s wrong?”

Sherlock opened his eyes to John’s worried expression.

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s excellent.”

“Are you sure?”

“John, if something was wrong I would say so,” he snapped. “Now get back down there and finish what you started.”

“Alright,” John laughed. “But you can make noise, you know. You make the loveliest sounds, love.” He kissed Sherlock’s nose and shimmied back down to his stomach.

“Oh,” Sherlock said. “Oh,” he breathed when John rubbed his cheek against the bulge in his shorts.

“That’s better,” John murmured. 

He slowly and deliberately popped the button on Sherlock’s shorts, lowering the zipper while pulling it away from the straining member that lay beneath. Sherlock lifted his hips so John could tug off his shorts. As soon as they joined the shirts on the floor John was leaning over him once again, hot breath ghosting over the wet spot on the front of Sherlock’s navy pants. He moaned, pushing his hips toward the source of the heat but John pulled away. Apparently it was his mission to drive Sherlock mad before he actually did anything.

“John,” Sherlock moaned impatiently.

“Yes, love?”

“Please,”

“Please what?”

“DO something,” Sherlock had the brief thought that he should hate the pleading tone in his voice but at the same moment John laid his open mouth over his cloth-covered prick and huffed out a warm breath, chasing the thought away.

“Guh!” 

“Like that, do you?”

“Obviously,” 

The remark lacked his usual distain due to its breathy nature but Sherlock found he didn’t care about that either because John had lowered his mouth again. He thread his fingers into the  
other boy’s short hair and John sighed. He rubbed at the scalp and John moaned, sucking lightly on the wet spot over the head. 

Sherlock trailed his fingers over the shell of John’s left ear and felt the boy’s tongue press against the cotton between them. John evidently liked to be touched. Memories of the bathroom at the theatre flooded Sherlock’s mind and gave him an idea.

“Yes, John,” he groaned. The reaction was instantaneous. John’s body shuddered and he pressed his mouth harder against Sherlock’s covered cock.

“Take off my pants, please John,” he pleaded, letting his arousal lower his voice. 

John responded quickly, peeling off his pants before licking a strip from the base of Sherlock’s cock to the tip. He sipped at the precome leaking from the slit and ran his tongue around the crown, pressing firmly.

“Fuck,” Sherlock gasped as John eagerly swallowed him down. Sherlock’s mind went completely blank and he struggled to breathe. He quickly became aware of the fact that despite his earlier release, he was rapidly approaching the point of no return. John was bobbing his head with enthusiasm, eagerly sucking him down again and again, seeming as lost to the moment as Sherlock was.

“John,” he tugged at the blonds’ hair. “John, stop.” 

John pulled off with an obscene slurp and blinked up at him.

“Too close,” Sherlock told him, dropping his head back onto the pillow.

“Sorry,” John clambered back up Sherlock’s long body and started sucking a mark over his pectoral.

“God, don’t ever apologize for that. Ever.” 

He felt John grin against his skin. 

“I need to touch you,” Sherlock said, sliding his hands down John’s back and into his shorts. “Why are you still wearing these?”

“I have no idea,” John said and kissed the mark he’d made. He pushed to his knees and opened his shorts. Sherlock watched, captivated, as John pulled his pants and shorts away from his  
body, pushing them just low enough for his prick to bounce free. He tucked his pants under his testicles, causing them to press up against the base of his cock. Sherlock licked his lips and John wrapped his fingers around the thickened shaft, stroking himself slowly.

“I love it when you watch me,” John told him. Sherlock looked up again, noting the lust and affection in John’s eyes. He reached out, pulling the clothing down to John’s knees.

“Would you enjoy me watching you wank? Telling you exactly how to touch yourself?” Sherlock asked, folding his hands under his head, eyes raking over John.

“God, yes,” John’s head fell back and his mouth went slack but his hand stilled on his cock.”But not tonight.”

“No, tonight you’re going to fuck me.”

“God, I really am,” John grinned down at him. He lowered himself onto his hands, stretching his legs out behind him and balancing on his toes and Sherlock used his feet to shuffle his  
clothing the rest of the way off and onto the floor.

John rested his weight lightly on top of him and Sherlock relished the feeling of the compact body pressing him into the mattress. John kissed him lazily, clearly taking pleasure in having Sherlock there with him. His mouth was soft and light and soon Sherlock was squirming with impatience. John laughed when the other boy growled beneath him.

“Not everything has to be fevered, love. I plan on taking the time to enjoy every minute of this.”

John kissed him again, stroking their tongues together. The weighted feeling returned to Sherlock’s chest, making him grip John tighter to him. The feeling of being here together, about to cross yet another line in their relationship was almost too much to bear. Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed against the torrent of emotion that washed over him. He wanted John so badly it hurt. 

He needed John to touch him. To take him apart piece by piece before his own desire did it for him. He yearned for the other boy to take what he wanted, leaving Sherlock marked and full and owned. John deserved so much but his body was all Sherlock had to give. It was the only part of him no one else had laid claim to. He would hand it all over willingly if it meant John would stay with him.

“You’re shaking,” John kissed his closed eyelids softly.

“Please, John,” he begged.

“Okay, love; it’s okay.” 

John drew back and Sherlock tightened his hold. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” John promised, leaning sideways.

Sherlock heard the whisper of the side table’s drawer open and close. John shifted off him slowly, stroking his ribs. 

“Can you open your eyes for me?” John asked.

Sherlock frowned and took a deep breath. He forced his emotions down and braced himself for the sight of John. Deep blue eyes were intent on his face, broadcasting anticipation and devotion. John smiled at him.

“Are you ready?”

Sherlock nodded resolutely and started to turn over. John stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“If you think I’m not watching your face while I fuck you, you’re insane.”

Sherlock flushed with want and wrapped his hand around the back of John’s neck, pulling him down roughly for a kiss. Distantly he heard the cap of the lube snap open. He allowed John to shift his focus for a moment while he coated his fingers but reclaimed his mouth once the bottle was safely back on the night stand. Sherlock bent his knee and let it fall open while John sucked softly at his tongue. He felt knuckles drag lightly over his cock before the hand shifted and cold slickness spread over his balls and back to his perineum. John rubbed teasingly over the skin there until Sherlock relaxed. He slowly let his fingers drift further back and Sherlock jolted when they danced over his hole. He hummed deeply in encouragement and John’s fingers stroked the tight muscle. Sherlock concentrated on his breath, forcing his body to loosen up and relax into the sensations John’s fingers were sending across his body.

“That’s it,” John murmured, rubbing slick and firm at him until he could slip in the tip of his finger. “That’s it, Sherlock. Just relax, love.”

John sunk his index finger in to the first knuckle before pulling out and pushing back in. Sherlock groaned loudly, urging John to continue. Every time he went a little deeper and his finger was soon sliding in and out of Sherlock easily. 

“More,” Sherlock demanded. “Faster.”

John pulled his finger all the way out and slid two back in, making Sherlock gasp. John froze.

“Don’t stop!” Sherlock shouted, grasping the other boy’s shoulder with one hand and reaching down to keep the fingers moving with the other.

John started again, not stopping until he had the two fingers buried deep within Sherlock. He paused, letting Sherlock adjust, only moving once the other boy was squirming and clenching against the intrusion.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” John groaned into Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“And you’re easily twice that circumference,” Sherlock told him. “This is going to be fantastic.”

“You have the greatest smile on your face right now. I’ve never seen anything like it.” John said with wonder. 

“Then you weren’t looking properly,” Sherlock said, allowing emotion to push through into his voice.

John stretched up to kiss him as best he could. Sherlock broke the kiss with a moan when John spread his fingers on their way out of him.

“Good?” John asked, refocusing on his task.

“God, yes.”

John sped up a little, widening the V of his fingers every second or third him he drew them out.

“Please John, please,”

“Not yet. I want to make sure you’re ready.”

“I’m ready, dammit. I need you inside me.”

John groaned and bit lightly at Sherlock’s nipple before sitting up and reaching across him for the lube. He shuffled over and settled himself between Sherlock’s open legs. He recoated his fingers and capped the bottle, laying it along the outside of Sherlock’s leg. 

“Take a deep breath,” he said and slowly inserted three fingers into Sherlock’s stretched hole.

“Fuuuck,” Sherlock groaned, pushing into the stretch.

“God, that’s amazing,” John said, watching his fingers disappear into the other boy. He curled his other hand around Sherlock’s cock and stroked slowly, watching the boy’s face closely.

“John, John, John,” Sherlock whimpered, clenching around the other boy and thrusting into his hand in turn. “I can’t, I need, John!”

John stopped abruptly.

“Now, John, NOW.”

John withdrew his fingers carefully, releasing Sherlock’s cock and reaching into the drawer for a condom. Sherlock grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“No, just you,” he said. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” John asked.

“You’ve never been unsafe and I’ve never. If there was anything to catch I would have gotten it when you came down my throat.” He reasoned and John groaned, grabbing the bottle of lube.  
He reslicked his fingers and coated his cock, sighing at the feeling of finally touching himself. John lined himself up with Sherlock’s loosened hole, rubbing lightly.

“Ready?”

Sherlock nodded fervently, curls bouncing around his head. John held tight to his hip and pushed forward slowly. Sherlock’s hands went to the headboard, griping tightly as the head of  
John’s cock sunk into him. 

“Fuck, Sherlock. You’re so hot.” John breathed, pushing the other boy’s knee to his chest and watching his cock penetrate him.

“Yes,” Sherlock hissed, pushing into it.

He wanted to see John entering him but knew sitting up would dislodge him and it felt too good to stop. He’d never experienced anything like it. It was a fullness not equated by fingers alone. John’s cock was thick and firm in a way that pressed against the deepest parts of him as it worked to satisfy the cravings his body was crying out for. John sighed shakily as he pressed in, not stopping until he was fully seated and snug against Sherlock’s bottom.

Sherlock watched as John closed his eyes and calmed himself. When he looked to have settled Sherlock wrapped his legs around the other boy’s waist and clenched tightly. John gasped and jerked, thrusting sharply.

“Fuck,” Sherlock said, digging his heels into the small of John’s back. “Move, John, please.”

John nodded, grasping him by the hips and sliding slowly. Sherlock groaned, arching his back to meet every thrust as John started to speed up.

“What does it feel like?” He asked.

“You’re so fucking tight,” John told him. “Even after all that preparation, it’s so tight. You feel like you’re on fire.”

“Harder,” Sherlock said and John pulled up on his hips, slipping his knees under his bottom for better leverage.

“How is it?” John asked.

“Perfect,” Sherlock cried out as the head of John’s cock brushed his prostate.

“That’s it, love. God, you were made for this weren’t you?” John said, driving into him.

“Come here,” Sherlock reached out for him.

John leaned forward and they met for an awkward, sloppy kiss.

“Harder,” Sherlock pleaded.

John hit his prostate against and cursed loudly as Sherlock clamped down on him.

“I’m not going to last much longer. Can you come like this, do you think?”

“God, please don’t stop,” Sherlock pleaded, loosing himself in the feeling of John inside and over him.

“Tell me what you want,” John said, pulling back to thrust shallowly.

“You, always you, John,”

“Only me,” John told him.

“Yes, yes, only ever you.”

“Look at me,” John said. “I am the only one who gets this, you hear me? You belong to me.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed eagerly, eyes wide and delighting in the possessive look on John’s face. 

“You are mine, say it.”

“I’m yours, only yours. Please, John, fuck me harder.” 

John dug his fingers into Sherlock’s hips and pounded into him, thrusting frantically.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed. “I’m close but I want you to come around my cock first.”

Sherlock grabbed his prick, spreading the precome down the shaft and pulling quickly.

“God, yes,” John breathed, watching Sherlock’s fist fly and his own cock sinking into the boy’s arse alternately. “So lovely.”

Another few thrusts and John hit his prostate full on, making him seize up.

“Again,” Sherlock begged, focusing his own efforts on the head of his leaking cock.

John repeated the motion twice more and Sherlock was crying out, spilling across his fingers and contracting around John as his nerve endings flared and his vision went white. His back arched off the mattress and his whole body shook as it relaxed again. As soon as he his hold loosened John was pulling out. He uttered a sound of protest and then of pleasure when John used Sherlock’s soiled hand to spread cum onto his cock before pressing back in as deep and fast as he could.

“Now we’re both in there,” John gasped, pounding a brutal rhythm into Sherlock’s limp body.

Sherlock covered John’s hands with his own where they were forcing bruises into his pale flesh.

“Come on John, please. I need you.” Sherlock peeled his tired eyes open and licked his dry lips. John’s eyes followed the movement closely and he frowned in concentration.

“I need you inside me, John. Take me, mark me as your own. Fuck me, John, I’m yours.”

John let out a low growl and pushed in deeply.

“Sherlock, Sher-“ His voice cut out and his eyes went wide as his orgasm crashed into him. He dug his nails into Sherlock’s waist and whimpered as he emptied himself into the other boy’s arse.

Sherlock looked up at him in wonder, feeling the warm wash of cum spreading inside him. An intense sensation of satisfaction coursed through him and he knew for the first time that this was what total happiness felt like.

John was breathing heavily above him and Sherlock trailed his fingers down his side, making the other boy shiver.

“Happy?” Sherlock asked, praying for a yes.

“Incredible,” John told him, smiling tiredly. He winced as withdrew slowly. “Um, there’s going to be a mess.

He smiled guiltily at Sherlock who simply stretched languorously and shrugged.

“I’m not the one who has to wash the quilt,” he smirked.

“Shit, I didn’t think about that. We’ll have to take it back with us.” John frowned.

“Shut up and come here,” Sherlock said, pulling John down on top of him.

“Ouf,” John huffed, landing heavily. “Seriously though, we should clean up first.”

“John. Shut. Up.”

“Fine,” John sighed and arranged himself so he wasn’t completely crushing Sherlock beneath him. 

“How do you feel?” He asked once he had settled.

“Excellent,” Sherlock assured him.

“You’re sure? I got a little rough there for a bit,”

“And it felt wonderful. You were right about adequate preparation, it made things much more pleasurable.”

“So it didn’t hurt?” John raised his head to look at Sherlock, genuinely curious.

“Not exactly. It’s more like a very intense pressure everywhere. You felt like you were three times as big as you actually are. At least until you were past the first ring of muscle. Once you were fully in and I was more accommodating some of the intensity faded and I just felt pleasantly full.” He explained to John’s growing smile.

“Three times as big, huh?” 

“Oh God, what have I done?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

John brought his hand up to cup Sherlock’s cheek. 

“You’ve made me insanely happy, that’s what you’ve done.” John told him seriously. “You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met and what we just did, that was the most precious gift anyone’s ever given me. Thank you.”

The depth of emotion on John’s face stirred the clenching heaviness in Sherlock’s chest, making it twist and burrow deeper. A shot of terror and panic went through him and he crushed his lips to John’s before the other boy could see it. He squeezed his eyes tight, fighting the moisture growing there and tried to settle underneath the solid weight of John’s body anchoring him to the moment and the memory of what they’d just shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've surpassed 1500 hits so I will be posting a bonus chapter describing the day John and Sherlock first met. I have no ETA because I'm apparently not allowed to be a hermit and write all day, every day. Sigh, a girl can dream.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me this far; we still have a little way to go on this journey and I hope you enjoy the ride!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long between posts! I will have the next chapter just as fast as I'm able!

Chapter Twelve

John woke slowly, gradually becoming aware of the fingers and lips roaming over his body. Soft curls trailed across his bicep as Sherlock ran his tongue along John’s ribs, making him squirm. 

“That tickles,” he protested, trying to wiggle away. Sherlock held him in place with one hand on his shoulder and one on his hip, and then did it again.

“Sherlock, stop!” John laughed, pushing his head away. 

“I don’t want to.” Sherlock pouted, sitting up to straddle John’s hips.

“Clearly,” John said, stretching underneath him. Sherlock’s eyes trailed the line of John’s body as it arched. “What do you want?” John asked once he resettled.

“You.” Sherlock answered simply, running his palms up John’s chest and making him shiver.

“God, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you saying that.”

“Then I shall say it often,” Sherlock smiled and leaned forward to kiss John’s sternum.

“Ew, is that what I think it is?” John asked, spying crusted, white residue directly to the left of where the other boy was currently drawing swirls with his tongue.

“Hmm?”

“Sherlock, stop.” John scraped at his skin with his fingernail and examined it with a scowl. “I seriously need a shower. We should have cleaned up before we fell asleep.”

Sherlock merely shrugged and licked at the flaking cum.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting!” John laughed, pushing the boy off him and sitting up. “Pond. Now.” 

John tried to stand and found himself being wrestled back onto the bed by strong fingers curling over his shoulders and long legs wrapping around his waist. He ended up half on the bed with his legs dangling over the edge and Sherlock pinning him to the mattress.

“Why clean up when we’re just going to get dirty again?” He asked, kissing John’s neck.

“Because I’d rather not choke on gobs of rubberized cum when I suck your cock.” John told him.

“So don’t suck my cock.” Sherlock shrugged. “I had something else in mind entirely.”

“Oh really? What’s that?” John wheezed. “You’re actually quite heavy like this love, let me up.”

Rather than ease off, Sherlock pressed down on him more firmly and lowered his head to John’s neck.

“I want to be inside you.” He whispered. 

John froze. It was one thing to promise that in the heat of the moment but something all together different when confronted with it in the light of day. Sensing John’s hesitancy, Sherlock drew back to look at him.

“Have you changed your mind?” He asked, sounding oddly shy.

John took a deep, much needed breath and examined his friend. Sherlock had been so amazing the night before. So trusting and open for everything John wanted. Surely John could do the same. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, he was just afraid. He liked being in charge. Being the one on top, so to speak. He wasn’t sure how calm he would actually remain when Sherlock penetrated him. 

Sherlock watched the thoughts play across John’s face and frowned.

“You have changed you mind.” He stated and drew back further. John caught his wrists to keep him in place.

“No, I swear I haven’t. I’m just a little…worried.” He admitted.

“Do you think I would hurt you?” Sherlock asked.

“No, of course not. I have no doubt that you’ll do everything you can to make it amazing for me,”

“Like you did for me.” Sherlock interrupted, making John blush.

“Ta, love. I just, well, weren’t you a little scared?”

“No, I was intensely curious.”

“Of course you were. Well I’m scared.” John told him.

“Of what?” Sherlock frowned.

John huffed and looked away, unable to say the words out loud.

“You’re worried you’ll feel emasculated.” Sherlock stated, clearly surprised. 

“No-“

“Yes you are. Jesus, John, I knew you had issues with your height but I didn’t think you were this insecure.”

“I’m not insecure! And I don’t have issues with my height!” John argued.

“You do when you’re comparing it to mine. You have no reason to worry about not feeling manly while I fuck you. There is great power in being on the receiving end. Last night it may have been your cock in my arse but I’ve never felt so in control of another human being as I did while it was there.” Sherlock told him and John was startled to notice his cock thickening while he spoke.

“Really?” 

“Really. I could have had you begging for it if I’d wanted to. And the look on your face every time I clenched around you was enough to make me feel like I could rule the world. I have no doubt you’ll be exceptionally talented at being a power bottom.”

“A power bottom? There’s actually a name for it?” John laughed.

“There’s a name for everything, John.” Sherlock told him and went back to kissing his neck.

“Okay, okay, but we will be washing first. I also have to pee first because you’ve been sitting on my bladder for too long.”

“Urination but no washing.” Sherlock bartered.

“Urination and washing or no deal. I love you but I’m not letting you near my arse until I’ve at least splashed it with clean water.” John shoved him over and jumped from the bed and ran for the outhouse. He left Sherlock sprawled across the bed looking as though he’d just had the surprise of his life.

********

After emptying his bladder John wandered down to the pond. He had expected Sherlock to already be there but the boy was nowhere to be seen. John washed as best he could, running through the events of the previous night, unable to keep the grin from his face. Sherlock still hadn’t appeared by the time John finished but he tried not to worry as he made his way back to the cabin. 

When he entered the clearing John was shocked to see Sherlock fully clothed and packing up the car. He’d been gone less than half an hour but the boy had managed to get almost everything they’d brought shoved into the hatch. He put his hands on his hips and cleared his throat. Sherlock startled and froze.

“Did I miss something?” John asked, trying for humour.

Sherlock jerked his head and continued his way back into the cabin. Worried, John followed. Their bags had already been loaded into the car but Sherlock had left a change of clothes on the stripped bed. John pulled them on hastily and rushed to intercept his friend.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He tried to stand in Sherlock’s way but the boy simply stepped around him with a box of food in his arms. “Sherlock, you’re scaring me now. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. We should head back.” Sherlock muttered keeping his eyes fixed forward.

“Why? An hour ago you were trying to keep me in bed and now all of a sudden we’re leaving? What’s the rush?” John tried to grab his arm as Sherlock passed him to re-enter the house but the other boy flinched away.

“Sherlock, please. What did I do?” John was starting to panic. 

“Nothing, we just need to leave.”

“But-“ John started.

“But what, John? What part of ‘we need to leave’ is your plebeian mind not grasping?” Sherlock shouted, raking his hands through his hair.

“What the fuck is going on Sherlock?” John snapped back. “One minute all you can talk about is fucking me and now you’re running away. Talk to me!”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Sherlock sniffed.

“The fuck you don’t!”John grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down on sofa. He sat on the table in front of him and tried to calm himself. After a half dozen deep breaths he tried again.

“Sherlock, please. Something’s happened and I can’t fix it if I don’t know what it is I’ve done.”

“This was all a mistake.” Sherlock blurted. John felt like he’d been slapped.

“What?” He whispered.

“This experiment; it was clearly a mistake. I underestimated the outcome and I no longer wish to continue.”

“Experiment. We talked about that, Sherlock. We are not a fucking experiment.” John’s voice was hard and he clenched his fists on his knees.

“It doesn’t matter. I want to stop.” Sherlock’s face was blank and he still wouldn’t look at John.

“It does matter. It does. If you want to stop that’s fine,” John’s voice broke and he paused to clear his throat. “But I deserve an explanation.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest.

“Sherlock,”

“Fine! You want to know why? You got attached. This stopped being fun when you said you loved me. I asked you not to say it, I did. But you couldn’t even manage that, could you? You had to try and force me into something I don’t want.” Sherlock spat.

“What, when did I?” John paused, his eyes going wide. “Oh my God, I didn’t even realize I’d said it. Jesus, Sherlock, I’m sorry.” He reached out and took one of Sherlock’s hands in both of his, stroking it firmly. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I know you’re not ready for that and you’re right, you did ask me not to say it. It just slipped out. I’ll take it back, I swear I won’t say it again until you’re ready, just don’t do this. Don’t throw everything away because you’re scared.” 

“I’m not scared, John. I don’t want it.” He enunciated each word.

“You don’t mean that, Sherlock.” John pleaded. “This is all my fault and I’m so sorry.”

“Yes, it is your fault and I do mean it.” Sherlock pulled his hand away. 

“How can you say that? After the past few days, after everything we’ve done? And I swear to Christ, Sherlock, if you say this was all an experiment I’m going to lose my temper. We’re together and that is not nothing.”

“What did you think was going to happen, John? Did you think we would go back to London and flaunt our relationship to everyone? To my family?” Sherlock scoffed.

“I know they’re conservative, but we don’t have to hide from them. We don’t have to hide from anyone.”

“I’m not hiding, none of this is real.”

“Of course it’s real.” John insisted.

“No, John. This was a fantasy playing out away from the real world. This could never happen away from here.”

“Yes it can, it has. It has been happening for the past year and a half right under their bloody noses! You and me? Nothing had ever been so real before in my life!” John’s breath was quick and he was starting to grow cold with dread.

“Well it stops now, you’ve ruined it.” Sherlock told him.

“By telling you I love you? That’s ridiculous!”

“No, you’re ridiculous! Did you honestly think my family would allow this? That they would just let us be together?”

“I don’t give flying fuck about your family, Sherlock! I love you, okay? There, I’ve said it and you know what? I’m not taking it back this time because I know you love me too! Maybe you’re not ready to say it out loud yet but you know it’s true. This is bullshit and you know it!” John was shouting now, leaning toward Sherlock, who was shrinking back into the cushions.

“John,” his voice cracked and he shook his head. “I can’t.” 

“You don’t have to do it alone, Sherlock. I’m right here. I will always be right here beside you. I’ll be wherever you need me to be.”

“You know how they are. They’ll disown me. You know they will.” Sherlock’s eyes were wide and glassy. John took his hands again, pulling him forward until their foreheads were touching.

“We don’t know that. I’m not saying they’ll be thrilled but they’ll come around. In time, they’ll accept it.” John assured him even though he didn’t believe the words himself. He couldn’t face losing Sherlock like this, he wanted him too much.

“They won’t.” Sherlock sniffed and drew back, looking into John’s eyes. “I can’t do this to them. They’ve put too much into my future, John, I can’t just walk away.”

“Do you even hear yourself? You’re willing to throw away everything you want, everything we want, because they won’t like it. You’ll hate yourself if you do this.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll hate you if I don’t.” Sherlock whispered, looking terrified. 

John swallowed thickly. He didn’t know what else to say to change Sherlock’s mind. He could fight for him, expose them to their families but Sherlock was right; they’d end up hating each other. They had to both be willing to weather the storm or they wouldn’t survive.

“You love me.” John told him.

Sherlock shook his head. 

“I can’t walk away from them.”

“So you’re going to walk away from me instead.” John said, his chest aching and his anger rising.

“Maybe we could keep it secret,” Sherlock suggested, stroking John’s jaw. “We could be together when there’s no one around. We’ll always have the cabin and we can sneak away.”

“Hiding and lying? I don’t want to live like that, Sherlock. I can’t love you on the sly; your brother will take one look at me and know exactly how I feel. Maybe it would work at first but we’re off to different schools and finding time to steal ourselves away together without anyone noticing would get more and more difficult. We deserve more than that. You deserve to know that someone loves you and is willing to tell everyone about it. You have that. Right now.”

“You deserve that too.” Sherlock told him.

“I just don’t deserve you then.” John said and watched the hurt flash across Sherlock’s face.

“You deserve much more than I can be, John.” Sherlock drew back and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“But I want you. Forever. Always.”

“And you shall remain the only one to have had me. I won’t break my promise to you. You’ll always be the only one.” Sherlock told him.

“The only man, you mean. When they decide it’s time for you to marry what will you do? Marry some witless socialite? Fuck her while you think about me so you can carry on the family name? Can you live with that?” John demanded.

“I can’t think about that now.” Sherlock covered his face with his hands.

“Well you need to. You’re not just deciding to end us, you’re making the choice to live a lie for the rest of your life. Or aren’t you?” John raised his chin. “Maybe you think one day there will be someone worth going against them for.” John knew he sounded bitter but he couldn’t keep the venom from his voice.

“God, John, don’t.” Sherlock pleaded. 

“Why not? You’re breaking my heart, why shouldn’t I break yours? Do you think I’ll go back to women? I don’t think I will. You got me all amped up to be fucked, I guess I’ll have to find someone else to do it now.” Sherlock let out a pitiful whine and sank to his knees on the narrow strip of floor in front of John. He forced his arms around the other boy’s waist and buried his dark head against John’s stomach.

“Please, John. We can still be together. We won’t tell anyone and it will be exciting and dangerous and it will work, I’ll make it.” Sherlock begged. 

John unwrapped Sherlock’s arms and pushed him back.

“No, you make your decision now. All or nothing. I won’t compromise on loving you. Either we go home and face whatever comes together or we end this now. Decide.”

Sherlock looked up at him. He studied John’s face for a moment before speaking.

“If we end this is it safe to assume it will end our friendship as well?”

John took a sharp breath in. He didn’t want to think about a life without Sherlock’s friendship but he’d said all or nothing and he’d meant it.

“Yes.” He jerked his head. 

Sherlock nodded slowly and squared his shoulders.

“I want you, John. But I’m not strong enough to go against them.” He pressed his lips together and studied his hands.

“You are, you’re just a coward.” John told him and pushed the table back to stand. He grabbed the last box of supplies and walked out to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Ahhh!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this time but I'll be posting the next one in a few hours so you'll get some resolution, I promise! Please don't yell at me.

Chapter Thirteen

Sherlock opened his eyes, blinking into brightness. The sun was beating down on him, burning his pale skin. He must have fallen asleep in the yard again. John would be upset when he found out; he hated it when Sherlock didn’t take care of himself.

John.

Sherlock tried to lift his head to look for his friend but his vision swam with the effort. Heat stroke, probably. He would never hear the end of this. He sighed and closed his eyes again. His body had taken on that heavy, numb feeling it did when he stayed in one place for too long. Normally he quite enjoyed the sensation but something was itching at the back of his mind, keeping him from sinking into it.

Something acrid was burning through the air, making him nauseous. John must be burning something in the back yard.

John.

Again, Sherlock opened his eyes. He forced himself to sit up, cataloguing the pain screaming through his body. Something warm and thick trickled down from his forehead, blurring his vision and making his eyes sting. He raised his hand to wipe at it and stared dumbly when it came back smeared in blood.

John.

They’d fought and left the cabin. John refused to talk to him for the first hour. He wouldn’t even look at him. Then out of the blue he’d said something. Something that hurt Sherlock. He fought through the confusion and pain in his mind to recall what John had said.

You knew.

_“This whole time, didn’t you?” Anger and betrayal were layered thickly in his voice. It tainted the air in the car and made Sherlock feel like he was choking._

_“What did I know?” He’d finally managed._

_“That this is how it would end. You never had any intention of us being together. You knew the first time I touched you that you would-” John’s voice broke and he shook his head, looking away._

_They sat in strained silence for a few minutes before Sherlock spoke._

_“I didn’t know. I never imagined you would want me. Like that. I truly never thought you would want more.”_

_“And if you had, would you have stopped this earlier?”_

_“No,” he answered honestly. “I was hooked after the first time. I could have never said no.”_

_“Until today.”_

_“John,” Sherlock looked over at him._

_“Fuck you.”_

Sherlock took a shaky breath, wiping the blood out of his eyes again. He looked at the ground. Hard, packed earth. Not grass. Two feet past his bare ankle was a side view mirror from his car.

He scrambled through the doors of his memory for what happened next.

He had pleaded with John to talk to him again, to let him explain so he would understand. John had refused. Sherlock had started to truly panic, the reality of losing John too much to bear in that moment. He reached out to lay his hand on John’s leg. John pushed it off and threw Sherlock’s own hand back at him, yelling.

_“Don’t fucking touch me! You don’t get to do that anymore!”_

_“John, please. Please don’t do this.” He begged._

_Sherlock turned toward him, reaching out again._

_“Sherl-”_

Darkness then, but not silence. A crunching thud, followed by the screech of brakes. Then silence for half a second before a whistling noise and silence once again.

He’d been thrown from the car. Not wearing his seatbelt in his haste to escape the cabin. He’d taken his eyes off the road but left his foot on the pedal, accelerating in his alarm at losing John.

John.

Where was John?

Sherlock stumbled to his feet, falling once before fighting through the vertigo. He could see the car about thirty meters away, nearer to the road. He took four steps before he bent over and vomited. He managed to stay on his feet, blinking at the mix of sick and blood as the latter dripped freely from his hairline.

He wiped at his mouth with his left wrist and felt a distant shock seeing the awkward angle at which it rested. Most certainly broken. Adrenaline keeping the pain at bay. He took a deep breath and shuffled as quickly as possible toward the car. Toward John.

John always wore his seatbelt. It would have kept him safely in the car. But why hadn’t John come looking for him. Judging by the scarlet hue of his skin he had been unconscious at least a half hour. Perhaps John hadn’t been able to locate him and had gone for help.

No, John would never leave him. It didn’t matter how mad he was, John would always find Sherlock. Wouldn’t he?

Sherlock pushed the doubts away and hastened for the car. Twenty meters to go. Why was this taking so long? He was sore and limping, hindered further by the disappearance of one of his sandals but Thirty meters wasn’t that far.

Concussion, his brain supplied belatedly. Vertigo, nausea, loss of memory. His vision was compromised by blood and trauma leaving his mind unable to calculate distances accurately. Perfect.

He pushed on, knowing it didn’t matter what state he was in as long as John was all right.

He stopped when he reached the doe. Her head was twisted to an unnatural angle and her body limp. There wasn’t much outward damage but it was hard to miss the crumpled mass that used to be her ribcage. She must have jumped in front of the car. He didn’t remember if he’d swerved to miss her but the flash of fear on John’s face before everything went dark provided a pretty solid guess.

John.

Sherlock tore himself from the carcass and carried on. He was panting now. His throat aching for relief. There was water in the back of the car, he just needed to get there.

He almost fell to his knees when he was close enough to see the damage to the roof and side panels of the car. It had clearly rolled a few times when it left the road. John was small. John was wearing a seatbelt. John was fine, he chanted.

Blonde hair. He could see it peaking up over the base of the shattered window. John was slumped over in his seat, belt keeping him secure. He looked like he was sleeping, his hair dancing in the light breeze. Sherlock let out a shaky laugh of relief when he saw him.

“John.” He croaked.

John didn’t move.

Sherlock reached the driver’s side door and pulled. It was stuck. He moved around the back of the car, using the hot metal to support his now exhausted body.

“John.” He repeated.

No response.

Sherlock froze in terror when he saw the blood.

“John!”

The windscreen had shattered and safety glass was scattered everywhere but it was the sight of twisted metal protruding from John’s body that made his stomach roll.

Blood was seeping from the wound. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sherlock knew bleeding meant life but John was so still and so very pale.

Sherlock pulled at futilely at the door, making his wrist complain shrilly for the first time. When it wouldn’t open he ducked through the empty window.

“John?”He checked for a pulse, finding it light and thready.

“John, can you hear me?”

Still no response. Oh, God. He wanted to shake John until he opened his eyes, said his name. Moving him at all could be fatal but Sherlock didn’t know what else to do. He wasn’t strong enough to get him out and he knew John wouldn’t last if he left to find help.

“John, please.” He sobbed, hot tears mixing with the blood soaking John’s shirt. “Please wake up.”

Sherlock cursed himself. This was all his fault. He pressed his face to John’s neck, doing his best not to jostle him.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered.

The rasp of tires and squeal of brakes startled him out of his breakdown. He pulled back from the car, staring stupidly at the Land Rover parked above them. Three men jumped out and ran toward him.

“Jesus, kid. Are you okay?” The dark haired man asked.

“John,” Sherlock answered.

“Christ, the kid is pinned in.” One of them shouted.

Sherlock turned back to the car.

“John.” He repeated and promptly blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Mycroft.

Sherlock’s eyes were still closed and he was floating in a lovely void when the smell hit him. No one else in the world wore that hideously expensive and unique cologne. He considered ignoring his brother and falling back into darkness but Mycroft cleared his throat, indicating he knew Sherlock was awake.

Slowly, dramatically, Sherlock fluttered his eyes open. The lights were thankfully dim but even the minute constriction of his pupils made his head ache. He brought his splinted wrist to his face and everything came rushing back.

“John.” He rasped, his throat cracking painfully.

Mycroft placed a plastic cup in his right hand and helped him lift it to his lips. Sherlock drank deeply, not sparing a thought for the water that spilled down his chin and soaked his hospital gown. A vision of John’s shirt soaked with blood caused him to choke. He bent forward and groaned as the punishing ache in his head throbbed with each cough.

“John.” He repeated when he could breathe again.

“Sherlock, calm down.” Mycroft told him, pushing him back onto the bed.

Sherlock realized he had thrown off the covers and was trying to climb out of the bed.

“Where is he?” He demanded.

“He’s still in recovery.”

“I need to see him.”

“You will see him soon.”

“I have to see him now.”

Sherlock tried again to push his way out of the bed. Mycroft was stronger than he looked and easily pinned Sherlock down by his shoulders.

“He’s going to be fine, Sherlock. The metal sealed the wound quite well when it went in, causing minimal actual bleeding. It missed the artery but clipped his clavicle. John will be fine.”

“I saw the blood.” He protested.

“Yes, and you also have a severe concussion. I’m surprised you know your own name right now, not to mention John’s.”

“I’m fine.” Sherlock insisted though he didn’t feel it. His brain was sluggish and felt fogged in.

“You are not.” Mycroft paused, frowning down at him. “Stop fighting and I will get you a mirror.”

“I don’t want a mirror, I want John!” Sherlock bellowed and then slumped sideways as his vision faded.

“Calm down, for God’s sake!” Mycroft hissed.

Sherlock squinted at him. He’d never seen his brother frightened before but even his lethargic mind could identify the look on his face. Mycroft went into the bathroom and returned with a small hand mirror. Sherlock stilled when he saw his reflection. His head was wrapped in layer after layer of white gauze. He reached up to touch it and then slid his hand down over the greyness of his skin.

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“Two days.”

“Where is John?”

“He really is in recovery. Surgery went well but he still hasn’t woken up.”

“Why not?”

“They’re not sure. They say his body is keeping him under to heal itself. His sister has been sitting with him.”

“And his mother?” Sherlock asked, unable to look away from the empty face in the mirror.

“She came the night they brought you both in but has not returned. Apparently the sight of her child in a hospital bed was too much for her.”

“Useless woman. What doesn’t she think it’s like for John to be there?” Sherlock spat.

“Indeed.”

Sherlock finally looked up at his brother.

“Mycroft, what’s wrong with me?”

“You were thrown from the vehicle when it rolled. It’s not known how many times you hit your head but your skull is fractured.”

“There was blood.” Sherlock swallowed thickly.

“Yes, you managed to partially scalp yourself in your adventures. They’ve sewn everything back together but I wouldn’t advise shaving your head.”

“And my mind? I remember the accident so it mustn’t be that bad.”

“You’re brain is swollen, Sherlock. They haven’t been able to reduce it. In time it will hopefully go down on its own but we have to wait and see.”

Sherlock stared at his hands, unable to consider what part of himself he might lose if things didn’t go well.

“I need to see John.” He said firmly.

“They don’t want you moving around in case you fall.”

“Then get me a wheelchair. And since when do you abide by what ‘they’ say?” Sherlock sneered.

“John needs time to recover, as you do. When he’s awake I will bring him to you, I swear it.”

“No, I want to see him now.” Sherlock was fighting down rising panic. He needed to see John. He had to reassure himself that he hadn’t gotten his best friend killed.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft started.

“This is my fault, Mycroft. I did this. We fought and I wasn’t paying attention. All of this is my fault and if I don’t see him right now I’m going to do something that will make my situation much worse.”

“It was an accident. It is no one’s fault.”

“Yes it is. He was so angry with me. He wouldn’t let me explain. I need to explain, Mycroft. Before I lose him again.”

Sherlock choked back a sob and thought that in another time and another place, the look of shock on Mycroft’s face would have been comical.

“Sherlock, what did you do?”

He shook his head and moaned when pain lanced through it.

“I was stupid. I was horrible to him.”

“I can believe the horrible part but you’re rarely stupid. I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t wait until you’re both feeling better. Now, Mother and Father are flying in tomorrow to see you.”

“I love him.” Sherlock blurted, making Mycroft freeze.

“Pardon me?”

“I love him. And he thinks I’m ashamed of it.”

“Sherlock, you can’t seriously-”

“I have to see him now, Myc. I have to tell him I was wrong. That I love him and I’m sorry I was scared.”

Mycroft took a moment to compose himself. He opened his mouth to speak. He looked at Sherlock and promptly sat back down in the chair.

“Tell me,” he said.

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn’t lie his way through this again. He had to be honest with himself and fight to get back to John.

“Eighteen months ago John and I started a sexual relationship.”

“God, Sherlock.” Mycroft breathed.

“Shut up. He wanted a relationship and I refused. He loves me, Mycroft, and I let him believe I don’t feel the same way. He’s right, I’m a coward. John Watson is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I was foolish enough to push him away. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Mycroft was silent beside him. After a few minutes Sherlock cracked an eyelid and looked over. His brother was staring at him, the look on his face contemplative.

“Well?” Sherlock prompted.

“I’m thinking.”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“Are you sure about this?” Mycroft asked.

“That I love him? Absolutely.”

“No, are you sure he will still want you?”

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Well, if you left things as badly as you say, you must consider the damage done and face the possibility that John will no longer want to be with you.”

“He loves me.”

“Love does not conquer all, Sherlock. Not really.”

“It will conquer this. I’ll make it.”

“Then there’s the accident. If it is, as you say, your fault, John may not be very forgiving. There’s a good chance the trauma to his shoulder has ended his dream of becoming a surgeon. Don’t you think he’ll be reminded of that every time he looks at you?”

Sherlock stared hard at his brother, anger mounting.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“And what is that?”

“You’re trying to scare me off. You think if you can convince me that John won’t forgive me no one will know about our relationship. You’re wrong.”

“Am I? Will you really chance disappointing Mother and Father over some fleeting romance? Will you ruin your future for this?”

“John is my future.”

“If he’ll take you back.”

“He will.”

“You’re awfully sure about that, brother.”

Sherlock paused.

“Give it some time, Sherlock. Let him wake up. Let yourself heal a bit before you talk to him. Everything will be clearer by then.”

Sherlock collapsed against the pillows.

“When will he wake up?” he asked.

“I don’t know but I swear I will bring him to you the second I am able. If he wishes to see you.”

Sherlock cringed at that. His head ached and he was so tired. He should sleep. That way he would be rested and better organized when he finally saw John. He could take this time to sort his scrambled thoughts and form a plan.

“Okay. I’ll wait. But the moment he wakes up you bring him to me.”

“If that’s what he wants, I will do it immediately.” Mycroft promised.

Sherlock nodded slowly, allowing himself to sink back into sleep. He distantly heard Mycroft stand. He felt a hand on his arm and then a light breeze as the door open and closed. He woke a short time later when a nurse came in to check his vitals.

“Hey there.” She smiled down at him. Late twenties, newly married and about eighteen weeks into her first pregnancy, his mind supplied in measured gasps.

“Hey.” He smiled weakly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you. Do you know how my friend is? We were in an accident.”

“Oh sure, he’s just down the hall. I can’t really tell you anything about his condition though, I’m sorry.”

"Oh please,” Sherlock whispered, tears forming in his eyes. “I have to see him.”

“Hey, it’s okay. He’s going to be fine, love.”

The choked sob Sherlock let out at the endearment was only half faked.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, hands fluttering around his wounds.

“That’s what he calls me.” He let his bottom lip tremble as he sucked in a shaky breath.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded slightly, wincing.

“I can’t take you there but I promise you he’s going to be fine.” She tried to sooth him.

“He told me he loved me. I was so shocked I didn’t see the deer jump in front of the car. I didn’t get to say it back. I have to say it back.” He could hear the anguish in his own voice and didn’t feel at all bad about fudging the details.

“But he’s going to be fine.”

“But I might not be.”

The look on the nurse’s face told him it wouldn’t take much more to convince her to help him.

“My brother said they don’t know if the swelling will go down. That could mean permanent memory loss, maybe even changes in my personality. What if I don’t remember him? What if I’m not the person he fell in love with when this is all over? I know he’s not awake but maybe he’ll hear me. At least then I’ll have said it. Please, I have to see him.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll help you but we have to be quiet and quick.” She looked around the room. “You can’t walk. I’ll be right back.”

She was gone less than three minutes but by then Sherlock had thrown off this blankets and sat up on the side of the bed. He waited for her to help him, not wanting to betray the weak persona he’d cast upon himself. There was also a small chance he might actually fall over if he stood so he sat and he waited.

She helped him into the wheelchair and arranged a blanket over his lap, readjusting his IV tubing. He gripped the stand with his good hand and dragged it along beside them as they glided to the door. She stuck her head out and glanced up and down that hall.

“I sent the other nurse for coffee. Told her I would finish rounds. We have about two minutes to get you into his room.”

Sherlock nodded, squinting against the bright lights of the hallway. John’s room was only three doors down but it was right across from the nurse’s station. Once he was in there, he’d be stuck.

“You’ve got until next rounds in an hour and then I’ll be terribly surprised that you made it all the way down here on your own.” She told him and backed through John’s door.

Sherlock’s thank you caught in his throat when he saw John. There were wires hooked up to nearly every part of his body. His chest and shoulder were wrapped in thick, white padding and he had an oxygen tube resting under his nose.

“I thought you said he’d be fine.”

“He will; we’re just monitoring him closely since his surgery. He’s breathing well on his own but every little bit helps. The gauze looks scary but it’s just to keep the wound clean.” She wheeled him right up to John’s bedside.

“There you are. Now, no getting out of the chair and no jostling him. He’s healing and needs rest. Okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Sherlock told her distractedly.

She squeezed his arm gently and left.

“John?” Sherlock whispered.

There was no response.

“John, I’m getting very tired of the silent treatment.” He tried.

Still nothing. He reached out slowly with his right hand and placed it on top of John’s. He was warm. Sherlock let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Logically he knew John was alive but he hadn’t truly believed it until he’d touched him.

“God, John. I’m so sorry.” He choked out, laying his head down beside their hands. He was still so exhausted. “I was wrong, you know. Of course you know, you tried to tell me. You know I love you but you deserve to hear it. You need to know how amazing it feels when someone says that to you and means it. I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. I may have actually blacked out for a minute before I started to panic.

“It wasn’t you, you need to know that. It was me. I was wrong. I didn’t think I was worthy of you, John. Obviously I was right but I’ve decided to give you what you want. I will tell anyone who will listen that we’re together. I will do anything you want me to if it means we can be together.” His voice was already starting to give out but there was still more he needed to say. “Mycroft thinks you won’t want me anymore. Because of the accident. He clearly doesn’t know the depths of your stubbornness. Once you’ve made up your mind about something you don’t give up. I never told you how happy I am that you’ve made up your mind to love me. It’s the highest honour I can think of.”

He linked his fingers through John’s and brought their hands to his face, just breathing in the scent of them. It lingered there, underneath the fragrance of antiseptic and blood.

“I love you, John. I love you so much. I’m an idiot. You’ve said it all along and you’re right. I can say that because you’re unconscious. You were right. I’m a coward and I was afraid of what I would lose. None of it matters, did you know that? I was quite surprised to learn it myself. Nothing beyond you matters. You are the only thing I need in this life to make me happy. So you need to wake up now. Wake up so I can relax and fix my brain. It’s a little off right now and I need you to wake up and help me put it back together. Only you know where everything goes in there. Please, John. I love you.”

Sherlock could feel sleep pulling at him, teaming up with the pain medication to force him into rest. He pressed his lips to John’s knuckles before letting himself be taken away.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry for the giant delay! I took some time off to create life and can now try and resume writing! Updates should be more than ten months apart from here on out ;-)

Chapter Fifteen

When Sherlock woke he was back in his own room with no recollection of waking while still at John’s bedside, or of being wheeled back down the hall. He tried to raise his   
hand to scratch his nose and found he’d been restrained. He tugged at the padded cuffs but they held firm.

“They are for your own protection.” Mycroft said from the end of his bed.

Sherlock scowled, poorly covering his shock at not noticing his brother before he’d spoken.

“Open them.”

“I’m afraid that order must come directly from your physician, Sherlock. He was concerned about your condition when you were found in another patient’s room, rambling.”

“I don’t ramble.” Sherlock lifted his chin and looked away.

“You don’t even remember, do you?”

“I had to see John.”

“And you did. Then you started stumbling around the room, shouting. Then you vomited on him.”

Sherlock looked at his brother sharply.

“I what?”

“Vomited on him. I’m told it was quite the scene. Sadly, it wasn’t enough to rouse the boy.”

“I don’t remember,” he whispered, trying to raise his hands to his face and growling when he couldn’t. “Why don’t I remember?”

“Because you’re injured, Sherlock. And you’re not taking it seriously. You were strictly told to stay in bed. Instead you manipulated a nurse into helping you escape.”

“I didn’t escape, I had to see John!”

“Calm down. Did you even think about what could happen to the nurse if you’d been caught, since you’re so unconcerned with your own future?”

“Has she been sacked?”

“No, the official story is that you somehow made it down there all on your own.”

“Then I don’t see an issue. Where is John?”

Mycroft sighed and his eyes flutter closed. Sherlock was surprised to note that his brother was actually worried about him.

“Where is John?” he repeated.

“Sherlock, you are seriously ill. You’re lucky you didn’t have a seizure last night. Do you realize a poor outcome could seriously damage your brain? Coma, stroke, irreversible damage to the best part of yourself!”

“Where. Is. John?” He asked through clenched teeth.

“For God’s sake, he’s in his room!”

“Is he awake?”

“Yes.”

“Then why isn’t he here? You said-“

“I said if he wanted to see you I would bring him.”

Sherlock froze.

“Sherlock, you have been unconscious and he only just woke up. Your injuries come first. When you’ve both been revaluated by the medical team I will ask John if he wants   
to see you.”

“Get someone in here now then. Make them do their tests so I can see John.”

Mycroft was gripping the end of the bed so tightly his knuckles where white. He looked as though he wanted to scream.

“And get them to take these restraints off.” Sherlock jangled the restraints in irritation.

Without another word Mycroft turned and left the room.

********

John stared at the ceiling. It was calming and two shades off from white. He tried to take a deep breath and winced at the pain. Three broken ribs, a concussion, several   
contusions, and, oh yeah, a chunk of metal through his shoulder. He tried not to think about that one too much as it tended to make the monitors beep in a way that worried the nurses.

His sister had been by his side when he’d awoken. Her’s wasn’t the first name on his lips but that one had faded quickly as the memories of before the accident came flooding back. Harry had been so happy that he’d woken but all John wanted to do was sink back into the abyss.

The surgeon had been by and told him there would be nerve damage, no doubt. In a moment all John’s dreams flew out the window. He’d never be a surgeon now. Maybe not even a doctor. One fight, a few seconds of distraction, and Sherlock Holmes had completely ruined his life.

John didn’t let himself ask after Sherlock, even though he desperately wanted to know how he was. They’d both survived, the nurse had assured him, but said she couldn’t tell him more.

Harry’s nattering stopped abruptly and John looked over at her. She was focused on the door, face gone stony. John followed her gaze until he landed on Mycroft Holmes.  
Mycroft look uncomfortable though he was doing his best to hide it. John leaned his head back against the pillows and tried to calm his erratic heart.

“Harry, try and find me some more of those little biscuits, yeah?” John said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, might as well get it over with.” He sighed.

Harry was no stranger to John’s feelings about Sherlock. They weren’t exceptionally close but John never could keep secrets from her. She didn’t know all that had happened at the cabin but John not having asked after his best friend must have been a red flag.

Once Harry was gone Mycroft took her place in the chair, taking a moment to arrange his long legs.

“John, how are you?”

“What do you want?” John asked bluntly, not having any excess energy to deal with the games the Holmes’ played.

“I want to know how you are. We have a matter to discuss but it can wait if it is too much for you right now. I wouldn’t want to impede your recovery.”

“I’m in pain, Mycroft. Say what you came to say before I lose my temper and have you thrown out.”

“Very well. Sherlock is awake and asking to see you.”

John snorted, then grimaced at the pain it inspired.

“He can ask all he wants, I’m not here to ease his conscience.”

“I don’t think that’s why-“

“Save it. He did this. He put me here and now he wants to convince himself that he was justified in doing it. I could have died and he would find a way to tell himself it   
wasn’t his fault.”

“John, has anyone explained to you what transpired in this room last night?”

“I was in a coma.”

“Yes, and while you were, my brother convinced a nurse to ferry him to your room so he could see you.”

“Well then he hardly needs to see me now.”

“He has been asking about you since he regained consciousness. He is very worried about you.”

“Good for him. Look, I just can’t deal with him right now, alright. We had a fight, I won’t go in to it but we’re not really friends anymore.”

“I know.”

“You know? I doubt he told you about it.”

“He told me he loves you.”

John was struck dumb. Never would he have thought Sherlock would confide in his brother, or any of his family for that matter.

“Was he in his right mind when he told you this?”

“Not really. He hardly is now. John, I can’t pretend to understand what went on out there, and indeed I have no wish to hear the details, but Sherlock has been quite adamant on the topic of you. He feels he was wrong and would like the opportunity to apologize. That is why he slipped into your room and why he is currently being restrained to his bed.”

“He’s what?”

“While he was in here last night he started ranting and raving. Sherlock is not well, John. I fear that keeping you away from him will only do him more harm.”

John shifted in his bed, feeling self-conscious and guilty.

“Not well how?”

“His brain is swollen. He’s fortunate the nurse returned to him before he fell and made matters worse.”

“Jesus,” John ran his free hand through his hair. “Are you sure he wants to see me? Does he even remember everything that happened?”

“He doesn’t remember the accident itself but the...events leading up to it remain.”

“Okay, um, I guess I’m supposed to go to him then, since he’s restrained.”

“That would be best.”

“All right, let’s go then.”

John struggled out from under the covers with one arm while Mycroft watched him closely.

“Don’t worry, I don’t need help.” He drawled.

“John, there is something we need to discuss first.”

“Christ, Mycroft, you are running through my patience at an alarming rate.”

“Do you plan on forgiving my brother?”

John stared at him. The man looked horribly uncomfortable in a very restrained way.

“How is that your business?”

“Sherlock is my business.”

“I’m not.”

“You could be. If you chose to forgive my brother and resume your relationship.”

“I assure you, any relationship we have is of no concern of yours.”

“I believe you misunderstand me, John. I believe being with you is beneficial for Sherlock.”

“You do?”

John was shocked.

“I do. With your influence he is focused and constructive. You care for him, allowing him to concentrate on more important things.”

“This is sounding less and less like the compliment I thought it would be.”

“I don’t see why. You stabilize my brother.”

“First of all, that’s very insulting to Sherlock. Second, no one influences him. He does what he wants and nothing else.”

“But you make him want to do things that are worthwhile. He sees you as someone he needs to impress and this keeps him on track.”

“Okay, just stop. If I decided to forgive him, if he even really wants that, it won’t be because he was potential to fulfill. It will be because we love each other and want to be   
together. That’s not negotiable. I won’t hide our connection. I won’t pretend to be just his friend because your parents won’t like it.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Mycroft’s mouth curved into something almost resembling a smile but it was gone before John could discern it. “Sherlock would crumble under that kind of stress. I don’t want that, no one does.”

“Well, at least we agree on one thing, then. Take me to him.”


End file.
